A Seamstress Suitor!
by gardeniagardens
Summary: When Kyouya is convinced to find a seamstress to keep up with Tamaki's high demand for new costumes, he calls in Genoveva, a student known for her internship with none other than the twin's mother. Will she help the Host Club to truly shine with elegant costumes, or will all fall apart when she falls in love? KyouyaxOC
1. The Damaging Waltz!

author's note: Welcome to my first fanfiction. I appreciate any reviews, as English is not my first language and I need plenty of help to improve!

* * *

**The Damaging Waltz!**

The Ouran High School Host Club had spared no expense when it came to their casino-themed festivities that evening. Paid dealers ran blackjack, 21 and poker tables. A band was playing music in the corner, and lights were strung from wall to wall. All of the lovely guests were dolled up in their cocktail gowns, a striking difference from the pale yellow and blue school uniforms they typically wore. There wasn't an unhappy guest to be seen in the entire room. One host in particular looked very pleased, but it wasn't the wonderful table decorations that had caught her eye

"Crab legs..." Haruhi was nearly drooling as she made her way towards the buffet table. Ahead of her were some of the most delectable things her mind could ever dream of. When she had finally gotten the opportunity to excuse herself from her guests, Haruhi hadn't wasted a minute in making a beeline for the seafood. But right as her hand was about to snatch one of the steamed crabs from the tray, two twin hands clamped down on her shoulders. Out of surprise, the tongs in her hand fell back to the table with a clatter.

"Haruhi," one voice grinned into her ear.

"We've been looking for you all night," the other continued. She was spun around and now faced the Hitachiin twins, who were dressed in tuxedos that matched her own. Their mischievous expressions made Haruhi quickly realize that she would not be enjoying any food any time soon.

"What do you want?" She didn't really want to know the answer.

"What makes you think that we wanted anything?" Kaoru looked offended.

"But now that you mention it," Hikaru looked thoughtful, but even Haruhi couldn't miss that mischievous gleam in his eye.

"Just say it," Haruhi couldn't hide the irritation in her voice. She hated the way that the twins played with her, as if she was a part of their act. There weren't even any guests around! She struggled against their grip, but it made no difference. The twins had her locked down, she had no choice to go along with whatever they had in mind.

The twins exchanged glances before starting to steer Haruhi away from the buffet line. "Let's dance, Haruhi!" they chimed, and she found herself at the edge of the dance floor near the band. It was surprisingly crowded. Haruhi was a little confused, until she spotted a blonde mop of hair twirling with a young guest in his arms. All around, girls were squealing at his display. Of course, Haruhi grumbled. But before she could stop herself, the twins had dragged herself onto the dance floor. This seemed like a bad idea; wouldn't it look strange if three boys all danced together? The twins didn't seem to care about that trivial fact, however. They pushed her to the dead center of the dance floor, near Tamaki, just in time for a new song to start.

At first, Haruhi had thought the twins would pass her off between them, and so it seemed. Kaoru spun her gracefully across the dancefloor, while Hikaru danced with a nearby guest. Then they switched, Hikaru a little rougher than his kinder brother. His grip was tight on her waist, and she could hear the whispers of the guests looking on, thinking how sweet of a dancing couple the pair made. If the idea of forbidden twin love drove the guests crazy, then throwing Haruhi into the mix drove them wild.

Haruhi, on the other hand, was less than thrilled. She was struggling to keep her underpracticed feet from trampling all over Hikaru's. He didn't seem to mind her bad dancing skills, but when Kaoru cut in to take his turn, his grin flickered for a moment.

"It's not your turn yet!" he snapped, latching on to one of Haruhi's arms.

"The next song is started," Kaoru reasoned, grabbing Haruhi's other arm.

"Haruhi was enjoying dancing with me!"

"It's my turn now!"

"Stop it!" Haruhi yelled, but it was too late. Somewhere in the fight over the possession of her, the twins jerked too hard on the sleeves of her tuxedo jacket, pulling it in opposite directions with a definite ripping sound. For a moment, the trio froze, just staring at each other. Very slowly, Haruhi's eyes travelled down the front of her jacket, spotting the gaping hole that ran down the front left panel seam. She couldn't move. The only thought that spun in her head was that of Kyouya, tripling or even quadrupling her debt in the blink of an eye. It made her nauseous just to think about it.

This thought seemed to hit the twins a few seconds later, and before Haruhi knew it, they were sweeping her out of the ballroom and away from guest's prying eyes. She struggled to keep up as they dragged her outside. Once they slowed to a stop, the twins eyed the tear on her jacket.

"That's not good," Hikaru started.

"...but not impossible to repair! You're in luck, Haruhi, our mother's studio is a few minutes from here!" Kaoru smiled, and before Haruhi could protest, she was being swept away into the Hitachiin's waiting limo.

* * *

They were dropped off before a multi-story building with ornate pillars stretching up the front. The twins, more experienced with where they were headed, dragged Haruhi up a flight of stairs and down three different corridors before pushing through a magnificent set of double doors.

Coming to a stop, Haruhi found herself standing in a large open room, with a wall of windows on the far side. Fabrics of all different kinds stretched over large tables that Haruhi assumed were for pattern cutting. Mannequins with gorgeous garments dotted the floor, and in the corner of the studio, several sewing machines sat unused. For a moment, she was awestruck at the sheer size of it all. The room alone had to be at least three times the size of her apartment.

"Where's mother?" Kaoru asked,sounding unimpressed while his eyes searched the room.

"She's not here," a stranger's voice cut in, and all three heads whipped around, searching for the source. "Hitachiin-sama is in Paris for the week."

"You didn't even know your mother had left the country?" Haruhi snapped.

The twins responded with matching shrugs. "We're not that close," they muttered. Haruhi was ready to snap again when she noticed the stranger from earlier had appeared, and was staring fixedly at the front of Haruhi's jacket. Feeling uncomfortable, Haruhi shifted so that the tear was less visible.

"Who are you...?"

Dark brown eyes snapped up to Haruhi's face, searching them with the same intensity that they'd been investigating the gaping hole in her didn't answer the young host's question. "I can fix that for you," she said simply, waving an already threaded needle at Haruhi's coat.

"Eh?" The twins echoed. Did they not recognize her either?

"I can fix that coat she's wearing," the girl said pointedly. "The tear is on a seam, and it shouldn't take too long." The girl ushered Haruhi to sit down and remove her coat, spreading it out on the closest table and setting to work. The twins watched her with mild interest for a moment, then Kaoru turned to Haruhi. Hikaru's eyes, however, remained glued to the quick movements of the girl as she secured stitch after stitch into the tuxedo jacket.

"I'm sure Kyouya will notice if we're gone too long, so its probably good that we repair this quickly," he nodded. Haruhi raised a surprised eyebrow.. In the flurry of movement from the Ouran ballroom to the Hitachiin studio, she'd completely forgotten about the Shadow King's omnipotent tendencies. A chill ran down her spine, and she was surprised he wasn't already standing in the room with them, giving them his trademark glare. "Maybe we should put him off our trail?" Kaoru said slowly, then shook his head.

"I don't think that will do much good," Haruhi voiced his thought. Kyouya-sempai always knew when a host lied to him. If anything, it would only alert him to their absence. Starting to feel nervous, Haruhi fidgeted in her seat and looked back over to the girl hunched over her coat, tying off the finishing stitch. Was she done already? "That was fast," Haruhi breathed, standing up to take the coat from her, but her reaction was too slow. The girl swept behind Haruhi, sliding the coat over her shoulders before spinning her around and jerking the jacket tightly around the small host's midsection. A small frown line appeared on her face as she tugged on the fabric again, then looked up at Haruhi in confusion.

"What an odd fit," she said, buttoning the coat and rising to her feet all without taking her eyes off of Haruhi, who instinctively paled. Of course it was an odd fit. Even though Haruhi had a small chest to begin with, her figure was still decidedly feminine, and as a result, decidedly against wearing male clothing. Even though she had picked the smallest size tuxedo coat and padded out the shoulders to mimic her male host counterpart's shoulders, a trained eye could still pick out that the jacket didn't fit her quite perfectly.

Apparently this stranger was that trained eye.

"Good, its fixed," Hikaru came to Haruhi's rescue, sweeping an arm across her shoulders and steering her towards the door. Kaoru was quick to follow, both twins picking up on the seriousness of the stranger's comment. As she was being ushered out of the room, Haruhi looked over her shoulder to the woman, who still stood in the center of the studio. In her grasp, a needle thoughtfully tapped against the table.

"Thank you..." Haruhi called, realizing that she hadn't even learned of the woman's name.

"Genoveva," she answered with a polite smile. She appeared unfazed that the twins were essentially dragging Haruhi from the studio.

"Thank you, Genoveva," Haruhi smiled, then Hikaru jerked her forward and Kaoru shut the door behind her. They raced through the corridors, down the stairs, and straight into Kyouya who was waiting outside by their limousine. "Kyouya-sempai?!"

He did not look pleased.

* * *

As the limo pulled away from the Hitachiin studio, Haruhi looked down at the seam running down the front of her vest. A hour ago, there had been a gaping hole there. Now, there was nothing. The stitches were identical to those anywhere else, put in by a hand with machine-like precision. She could barely tell where the production seam ended and Genoveva's quick handiwork began. "Kyouya-sempai?"

The man next to her had been glaring at the twins, but now turned his head to her. His glasses caught the lights from outside, and she could only guess what evil expression lurked behind them.

"You know, she did a really good job."

"That is no excuse for leaving your guests, Haruhi. I have half a mind to double your debt because of your actions tonight" he said coldly.

Haruhi frowned, glancing at the seam again before focusing on Kyouya. "It's not my fault that Hikaru and Kaoru tore my jacket in half," she snapped. "Why should I be punished?"

"Because, Haruhi," a twisted smile split Kyouya's lips, "you are the host club's dog. I won't even begin to mention how much that jacket cost." Deeming the conversation over, he turned back to the small black notebook in his lap. Haruhi, on the other hand, was not satisfied.

"If I'm such an expense to the Host Club, I don't know why you keep me around," Haruhi muttered under her breath. "I had it fixed for free," she said, a little bit louder so she knew Kyouya could hear. A wary eyebrow raised above the rim of his glasses, but Kyouya did not answer her. He seemed to be considering her words. Scribbling down something in the little black notebook in his lap, he turned his gaze to the street lights passing by outside. The rest of the ride passed in tense silence, broken only by Tamaki's joyous cries upon seeing his precious 'daughter' when they returned to the ballroom.

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author's note: The end of chapter one. Let me know what you think!


	2. Meeting Kyouya!

author's note - welcome to chapter 2! I never thought it would be so difficult to write the twin's dialogue, but for some reason, their characters are the ones I struggled with the most. Maybe it's just me. Anyway, let me know how it and my grammar/spelling turned out in a review! I appreciate it. : )

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**Meeting Kyouya!**

Every day after the final bell rang, the same limousine with Brazilian flags would queue up in front of the majestic Ouran Academy. Every day, exactly five minutes later, the same dark haired, golden-skinned girl in a pale yellow gown would stride out of the school's front doors and slip into the limousine. And every day, 12 minutes later, the same limousine would stop outside the Hitachiin fashion house and the same girl would quickly walk inside and set to work. This had been her routine for two semesters now,and Genoveva never dreamed of straying from it. After all, she had much work to do and little time to do it.

Today, however, two red-headed twins stood in her way as she opened the door to the studio. Arms slung over one another's shoulders, they eyed her with identical grins. Genoveva recognized them almost instantly as the same boys who had brought in the tuxedo jacket a few nights earlier. Although her interest was peaked as to the reason for their return, she couldn't help looking exasperated. She did not enjoy having her routine broken.

"Hello, Genoveva-san," the one on the left bowed, and Genoveva imitated him with a graceful bow of her own. At this point, the customs of the Japanese had become second nature to her, although her home was many miles away in sunny Brazil. Bowing was something she could understand; it meant she didn't have to touch greasy, unclean hands for handshakes. But the honorifics...

"It's Genoveva," she waved dismissively. "You were the gentlemen from earlier this week, no?" She didn't need to ask, Genoveva wasn't one to forget a face. Still, she heard it was polite, or so her social tutor insisted.

"We didn't know you were a student at Ouran," the other said, his grin matching that of his twin, ignoring her question. Genoveva rolled her eyes and moved around them, walking into the studio. She didn't have time to waste. Setting her purse down on a table, she was surprised to find that they had followed and were now calmly sitting down on the other side of the table. Well, not sitting, exactly. One had sat down on a stool like a normal human being. The other, instead of finding another chair, sat in his twin's lap, arms latched around his shoulders. Both of their eyes were still trained on her, and it was starting to make Genoveva squirm. She was not one to fidget, but their golden eyes felt as though they were piercing right through her soul.

"Or that you were a student in our year," one said, although Genoveva was not sure which. She was having trouble telling them apart now. She just wanted them to leave, honestly. They were strange, and she didn't like sharing the studio with anyone, much less strangers.

"What exactly do you two want?" she muttered, trying to swing herself back into her routine. What would she be doing right now? Ah, right. Pulling a sketchbook from her purse, she dug around in the drawers beneath the table for her drawing supplies. Hitachiin-sama would need her preliminary designs by Friday. "I have a lot of work to do."

"Don't you think it's strange that we've never seen you before?"

"We've seen nearly every girl at Ouran," the other added, and Genoveva could almost hear the grin on his face. She was trying hard not to look at them, choosing instead to rifle around in the drawers below the table for her elusive eraser. "They're frequent guests of ours, in fact."

"But you, we didn't meet until a few nights ago."

"Even then, we weren't sure if you were a student, but Hikaru saw you leaving the building yesterday after class."

"Kaoru suggested we follow you. Its very hard for a lady to go unnoticed at Ouran, after all. And very interesting. " Genoveva glanced up at the last word, eraser in hand, and noticed the twins were no longer sitting on a stool on the other side of the table. Instead, they had gotten up and were now flanking her, peering at the designs she had pulled out of her bag. "What exactly do you do here?" the same twin asked, eyes now focused on her. Behind her, she could hear the other twin still shuffling through her papers.

"I help Hitachiin-sama with her design work," Genoveva said carefully, not sure why she was answering him. Why did they need to know anything about her? And why had they followed her here from Ouran?

The stranger's eyebrows raised in interest. "All the more reason we should have met you already," he smiled, putting down the drawing in his hand and sliding around to entangle himself with his twin, who seemed to be finished rummaging through her designs as well. "You see, we are her sons," they chimed, and Genoveva's eyes widened. How had she not seen the family resemblance before, when it was so obvious now?

"And just what are you doing here, then? You said yourself that you aren't close," she frowned, taking the designs they had slid around the table and organizing them into a neat pile. It seemed strange that sons who distanced themselves from their mother would visit her studio twice in the same week. Especially since Genoveva had told them she was out of town on business.

"We thought that-" a ringtone interrupted them, and the one on the left slid a cell phone out of his pocket. Flipping it open, they pressed their heads together to listen to the man on the other end of the line.

"Yes?" they echoed.

"We're just running late, your highness." Genoveva could nearly hear the man's voice on the other end of the line rise up an octave, but the twins seemed uninterested. "We'll be there soon." One made a motion to end the call, but froze midway.

"-Kyouya?" even they sounded surprised.

"Yes, she's here."

"Why, of course." Twin grins leered at Genoveva, and, for the first time in her life, she felt very nervous.

* * *

Genoveva couldn't quite remember why she had agreed to come with the twins back to Ouran. Maybe it had been the golden eyes piercing her every thought. Or maybe it had been the way they'd calmly packed up her things. Or maybe it had been the steely grip on both her arms as they essentially dragged her outside and into their waiting limousine. As Genoveva now paused outside the double doors to the Third Art Room, she assured herself that it had been that last factor that had brought her here, and not the tingling sense of curiosity she had felt at meeting a 'royal highness' and his Kyouya. No, Genoveva was not curious at all, although she couldn't understand why the twins had left her outside the doors and slipped inside themselves. Finally growing impatient, Genoveva decided to push open the door-

-and found herself face to face with 7 handsome gentleman, the twins amongst them. "Welcome," they said in unison, flashing award-winning smiles. For a moment, Genoveva was star-struck, and by the time she composed herself, the gentlemen had returned to their small social circles dotted about the room. They seemed to be surrounded by other girls around Genoveva's age, and judging by their uniforms, students of Ouran. Never had she seen so many women swooning in one room.

"Genoveva?" A young man carrying a tray of tea jerked her out of her thoughts, and she recognized him as the man who had accompanied the twins a few nights earlier. The one with the torn coat. Instinctively, Genoveva bowed in acknowledgment, the man doing the same. "What're you doing here?"

"Ah...the twins brought me here," Genoveva answered, looking uncomfortable. What was she doing here? She could see the twins sitting on a couch together in the far corner of the room, but it seemed they had forgotten about her already. "But to be honest, I'm not sure why," she added, a slight frown crossing her face. Why hadn't she just stayed in the studio?

"Well, I'm glad you stopped by," the man flashed a warm smile, and Genoveva couldn't help smiling in return. He was very sweet, a feature she'd noticed when they had stopped by the studio, and she felt at ease almost immediately. "I never had a chance to properly thank you, or introduce myself, for that matter. I'm Haruhi," he smiled again, ducking his head slightly, "and I really appreciate you fixing my coat on such short notice."

"It was no-"

"HAAA-RU-HIIII!"a voice sang from the other side of the room, and a blur of blonde hair nearly tackled Haruhi to the ground in what Genoveva could only assumed was an unwelcome hug. Haruhi certainly didn't look pleased.

"Tamaki-senpai-" he groaned.

"Oh, I missed you so, daughter dearest! You haven't even refilled my-" the intruder's eyes suddenly landed on Genoveva, who looked as though she was ready to bolt. Before she could blink, he had taken her hand and was giving it a chaste kiss. "And just who may you be? The answer to all of my prayers, maybe?"

"Genoveva," she said carefully, not sure how to feel about the sudden closeness between them. The blonde man only decreased this distance in response, tugging on her hand until her body pressed against his. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Haruhi quietly taking her leave with a relieved sigh. Well, at least she had done some good. Her wary gaze flicked back to the man's blue eyes, focused intently on her, and she added, "And you are?"

"Why, I am Tamaki! Your sweet protector! I would fight a thousand armies for you, for I am your knight in shining armor, my lovely princess!" he crooned, but Genoveva held up a hand to stop him.

"I don't need you to tell me that I'm a princess. I'm already well aware," she smiled, thinking of her father's sugar plantation and the massive white mansion that sat smack in the middle of it. That was her castle, and she it's princess. Tamaki looked taken-aback by her bold statement, and in a flash, was sitting in the corner with his arms wrapped around his knees, pushing at a spot on the ground. His wounded gaze flicked to Genoveva before turning to someone behind her.

"Mommy! She's such a rude guest!" he sputtered. Guest? Mommy? Genoveva spun around to see who Tamaki had spoken to, half-expecting to find a greying old woman , but instead she was face-to-chest with a tall student. His glasses caught the light as his gaze shifted from Tamaki to her, and he inclined his head in a slight bow.

"Mommy?" she asked, returning the bow. She could see the lines of irritation grow on the man's face, before washing away as quickly as they had come. Maybe that was the wrong foot to start off on. "I'm Genoveva," she smiled, changing tactics. He glanced at the small black notebook in his hand before answering.

"The twins brought you here then? I hadn't realized you lived so close by, or I would've sent a car for you."

"They met me in Hitachiin-sama's studio, which isn't too far," Genoveva said, although it had been more like a kidnapping now that she thought about it. "Although they didn't have the grace of telling me why. A Kyouya asked for me?"

"I am that Kyouya," he answered simply.

"And what am I doing here, Kyouya?"

" I just have a few questions for you. Tell me, Genoveva, have you had a chance to visit the Host Club in your time here at Ouran?"

"The what?" she stammered.

* * *

author's note: Heh. Explanations will come in the next chapter, I promise. See you then!


	3. A Secret Interview!

author's note - welcome to chapter 3! Thank you for all of your reviews, they mean a lot. Onwards into the world of the the Host Club and Genoveva!

* * *

Her reaction had been out of surprise more than anything. It wasn't like she hadn't heard of the host club, after all. Who hadn't? There were always whispers going around about how handsome the hosts were, and who was who's favorite, and what the next host club event was. Genoveva had heard them all, and could even admit to considering a session herself. But it always came down to time: she never had enough. The limousine picked her up promptly after school, and brought her straight home after she was finished at the studio. Her father would be furious if he heard that she was spending her time idly chatting away with handsome men.

But as she looked around, she was pleased to see that the Host Club had lived up to her expectations. The hosts themselves were pleasant, the atmosphere friendly and inviting, and she was greeted as soon as she walked in the door. If she had a moment to spare, she wouldn't hesitate coming back.

Turning back to look at Kyouya, she realized he was watching her patiently. Had he said something? Genoveva wasn't sure how long she'd been drifting in her thoughts, and red spots of embarrassment shone on her cheeks when she realized Kyouya had simply been standing there the entire time. "I'm sorry, it's just..." she gestured to the rest of the room, searching for the right word, "...overwhelming. The Host Club has garnered quite a reputation here."

"So you have visited," he noted, looking down at his notebook. "Strange, I don't see your name here as a guest. "

"Oh no! I haven't visited," Genoveva shook her head. "I just hear a lot of stories about this place from your many guests. Honestly, I don't even know which names go with which faces. "

Kyouya seemed pleased that he had not simply missed her name on his list, and closed the notebook with a resounding snap. "That's disappointing to hear, Genoveva. I had hoped you would already be familiar with our members," he sighed, placing a gentle hand on the small of her back to usher her away from the doorway. They made their way across the room as Kyouya continued, "The Ouran Host Club uses the personalities of every host for the sole purpose of entertaining and pleasing all who visit the club. You already met Tamaki Suoh," he noted, waving to the blonde who was now entranced in conversation with a young lady at his side. "We consider him our princely type."

"Is he always so...flamboyant?" Genoveva chose her words carefully. She'd already seen what happened when she didn't.

"Always. Haruhi Fujioka is our newest member, and considered a natural type," Kyouya continued, and Genoveva politely waved to the host who was now serving tea. "The twins are Hikaru and Kaoru Hitachiin, although I've been told you're already familiar with the Hitachiin family," Kyouya gestured to the twins in the far corner, who were again entangled in a web of limbs.

"I work with their mother after school," Genoveva agreed, not realizing until after that he hadn't asked her. It seemed that Kyouya knew more about her than he let on. She glanced back at the twins, who seemed to be playing some sort of game with their guests. "They're quite a handful," she muttered.

"Little devil-types," Kyouya confirmed.

Genoveva felt a small hand land on her arm, and she paused in her walk to look for its source. A blonde boy was looking up at her with great brown eyes. "Who's this, Kyo-chan?" Chan? Genoveva was fairly certain 'chan' was diminutive, and this boy couldn't be older than eight years old. Why was he dressed in a high school uniform? Looking up to Kyouya, she didn't see the slightest hint of irritation at being referred to by the affectionate term.

"This is Genoveva, a second-year student. Genoveva, this is Honey-senpai, from class 3-A," Kyouya introduced them, and it all clicked. Supposedly this young boy was older than Genoveva herself, despite only coming up to her waist. Honey flashed a happy smile.

"Veva-chan! Do you like strawberry cake?" he asked earnestly, looking up at her with his great brown eyes.

"I haven't had very much strawberry cake, I'm afraid," she said gently, almost afraid of hurting his feelings. In her mind, despite his age, he was still an innocent child to her. His eyes widened in surprise, and he looked behind him to a tall man standing a few feet away, holding a plush pink rabbit.

"Takashi! Veva-chan hasn't had any strawberry cake!" he sounded devastated. The man walked over, tucking the plush rabbit into the boy's grip before straightening to look at Genoveva. She was very aware of just how tall he was, and his dark eyes and hair only made him appear more imposing. He said nothing, only resting a protective hand on Honey's shoulders.

"This is Takashi Morinozuka, also from class 3-A,". Kyouya was quick to fill in the blanks. Genoveva bowed politely to them both. "They are the lolita-type and the wild type, respectively," he added, and she was amazed how gratefully all of the hosts had taken their titles. Honey even seemed to enjoy his, skipping away to sit at a table stacked high with cakes as Mori followed a few paces behind. Sure, even Genoveva herself enjoyed a title, but more along the lines of 'heiress' or 'honorable'. When she truly thought about it, she wasn't even sure what her type was. Or Kyouya's, now that she thought about it. Aloof-type? Secretive-type? None sounded quite right.

She turned to look at him, the question burning in her eyes.

"What is your type, Kyouya?"

"Hm?" he had that small notebook in his hand again, pen hovering above the page.

"Your host club type. Or do you not host young ladies from time to time?"

"Ah. Cool-type, but I do not entertain many guests save for at our fundraising events," he answered, ushering her to a table in the corner of the room. As they sat down, he lay his notebook next to a small laptop, which he quickly flipped open and almost immediately started to type in. "How long have you been working for Hitachiin-sama?"

* * *

"Why do you think Kyouya called her in?" one twin glanced at the other. Their first round of guests had already departed, and they were left alone with their thoughts for a moment. Kaoru twisted his head so that he had a clear view of the pair, who had seated themselves in a secluded corner on the far side of the room.

"He didn't seem too happy that we'd gone to her for Haruhi's jacket."

"Maybe he wants to give Genoveva-san her own debt." Hikaru smirked, and Kaoru glanced back at him.

"The stitches weren't up to standard, Genoveva, I'm going to have to triple your debt," Kaoru sneered, mimicking Kyouya's voice.

"I'm afraid you left some skin cells on the coat, Genoveva, your debt will increase tenfold!" Hikaru laughed, but suddenly his eyes turned serious and his face grim. "If she's not careful, she'll be trapped under Kyouya's thumb just like Haruhi."

Kaoru didn't respond, but his worried glance towards the pair in the far corner spoke volumes.

* * *

The sudden topic change threw Genoveva for a loop, and she took a moment to catch up. "Nearly a year now," she finally said. Haruhi passed by, the tea tray still in her hands, and Genoveva flagged her down. The warm tea would help to calm her down, surely, from the rush of being dragged out of the studio to meet these handsome men. She wrapped her hands around the cup, enjoying the warm feeling it sent spreading through her hands. "She took me on as an intern right after I completed middle school, and my father allowed me to complete my education here in Japan."

"An internship? What services do you provide for her?" Although Kyouya was asking these prodding questions, he didn't truly seem interested. When Genoveva had been looking around earlier, she had noticed that every host was intently focused on their guest. Kyouya, on the other hand, was intently focused on nothing but his laptop screen. The sound of his fingers deftly hitting the keys was almost irritating, because Genoveva knew it meant that she didn't have his full attention. No wonder he didn't have many guests, she thought irritably. Still, this was a slight improvement from being alone in the studio.

"I assist in preliminary design, pattern-making and sewing, and sometimes Hitachiin-sama lets me attend the shows with her," Genoveva listed. His keys continued to click and clack.

"Are you able to carry the process out from start to finish on your own?"

Genoveva opened her mouth, then stopped. Something didn't feel right. Somewhere in their conversation they had transitioned from an amiable chat to something...professional. It wasn't hard for Genoveva to miss the business-like tone in Kyouya's voice. There was a point to these questions, and it wasn't just to get to know her better. He had a plan, a goal even, that he wasn't telling her about. And if there was one thing Genoveva Santos didn't enjoy, it was being held out on.

"Genoveva?" he repeated, but she held up a hand to stop him.

Her expression had soured considerably, and when she finally spoke, all happiness had drained from it. "Just what do you think you're doing, Kyouya?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't think I missed out on the fact that you know more than you're letting on. I never told you I was a second-year student, and these questions are starting to be more prying than polite," she said calmly, her voice still dark. She hadn't missed the glimmer of surprise in his eyes, but there was no time to dote on it. Why was he asking these questions? What did he want? "Now, I can get up right now, leave this room and never see you or your Host Club again, or," she leaned forward, eyes narrowing, "you can tell me exactly why you've brought me here today."

Oh, her father would be so proud of her at this moment; her imitation of him at his business conferences was spot on.

Kyouya, on the other hand, let no emotion show on his face as he closed his laptop and sat back in his seemed to be calculating his response, and a few moments of silence passed between the pair. "The Host Club requires an assistant," he started, "and it was brought to my attention that your skills would be the best fit for our demands."

"I'm already working," she said simply. Although her curiosity was piqued, her father had always taught her never to jump for the low hanging fruit. "And it takes up all of my free time," she added, waiting for him to make a better offer. Or at least, she thought indignantly, make any sort of offer at all. She knew he was still holding out on her, he had to be.

"Hitachiin-sama has confirmed that she is willing to lend you to the Host Club, for she believes you already spend far too many hours cooped up in her tiny studio," he assured.

"And what will I be doing?" Genoveva cocked her head slightly, her curiosity getting the better of her.

* * *

"Kyo-Chan was being very nice to Veva-Chan, don't you think?" the young host looked up at his cousin with a sweet smile on his face.

"Hn," was his stern reply.

"He almost never has any guests, so this must be strange for him!" Honey continued, fork digging into his cake. "Do you think Veva-chan requested him? Or do they know each other already? They're in the same class, after all. 2-A." His voice became muffled as he chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. "Although it can be easy to miss what is right in front of you. I hope Kyo-chan treats her well. Maybe then she'll come back and we can have cake with her!" He seemed excited by this thought, happily digging into yet another cake.

"I don't think it's like that," Mori finally said. This caught Honey's attention, and he laid his fork down beside his plate.

"I suppose you're right," he said, his expression sober, "but I do still hope that Kyo-chan is careful. He needs all the help he can get, whether he knows it or not." Picking up his fork again, a smile grew on his face. "Would you like another slice, Takashi?" It seemed as though his moment of seriousness had never happened.

"Hn," Takashi picked up his fork with a small smile.

* * *

Kyouya's eyes had travelled to the far side of the Third Art Room, where a princely blonde host sat surrounded by 5 young ladies, but now they snapped back to Genoveva. "You've met Tamaki." A statement, not a question, but Genoveva still nodded in agreement. "His tastes are expensive, his whims flip from Bali to medieval knights in a heartbeat. In short, I need to find a seamstress who can churn out costumes as quickly as he changes his mind, all while keeping the standard of quality that our guests have come to expect."

"You want me to sew...costumes?" Kyouya only nodded. "For the seven of you." He nodded again. "Why not simply order them?"

"The orders don't ship quickly enough, and their quality is...abysmal."

"Oh." Genoveva wasn't sure what to say.

"Of course, we would be able to compensate you for your time and any necessary supplies."

"Hm." A chance to work with these handsome men; why wasn't she leaping for it? Still, something still nagged at the back of her mind, something she was missing, and Genoveva didn't go for any new venture unless she was entirely confident in it's success. Besides, sewing seven identical costumes for the host club didn't exactly compare to the design freedom she experienced in Hitachiin-sama's studio.

"You would naturally also be in charge of all design choices. We do have some basic rules in regards to taste, but aside from that, you would be free to do as you wish."

"I'll do it!" Genoveva said before she even realized the words were forming on her tongue.

"Of course," Kyouya smirked. Reaching down to the bookbag beside his chair, he pulled out a small stack of papers and set them down before Genoveva. "These are your basic terms of employment and a non-disclosure agreement. Please sign here," he gestured to the bottom of the page with a pen.

"Actually," Genoveva dug through her own purse for her glasses, which she sat on the edge of her nose before peering intently down at the papers, "give me a few minutes to read this. I like to know what I'm signing." A wary eyebrow raised above the rim of his glasses, but Kyouya did say anything. He seemed to be considering her words as he flipped open his notebook and scribbled down one additional note. Anyone who had walked behind Kyouya at this point and glanced over his shoulder at what he was writing, would have seen the following statement underlined twice at the bottom of a page with Genoveva's name at the top:

_An intriguing girl, in her own way._

* * *

Argh, I never know how to end chapters. Thankfully, I plotted this story out, so I promise I know what I'm doing when I end it here! : )


	4. A New Seamstress!

author's note - 200+ views. That's better than I could've ever dreamed! Thank you so much! I know that doesn't sound like much compared to some of the stories on this website, but it makes me very happy. Onward to chapter 4!

* * *

**A New Seamstress!**

"Tamaki?" Kyouya called when he heard the door open and quietly close again. Several days had passed since his meeting with Genoveva. "I need you to come here for a moment."

The blonde bounded over, "What do you need, Kyouya?" Curiosity glittered in his eyes. "Have you finally tried some of the commoner's coffee? Isn't it delicious?"

"No. Actually," he reached underneath the table and pull out a large dress bag. "I need you to try this on."

Kyouya was sure Tamaki never looked so excited as when he got try on a new costume. The blonde nearly tore out of the room, but Kyouya's grip remained steadfast. "It's not a new costume, Tamaki," he warned, and Tamaki visibly deflated. "It's your tropical paradise costume."

The 'tropical paradise' costume was the only one Tamaki had ever complained about (behind closed doors). Although it was an opportunity to dress as a prince, Haruhi never wanted to be his princess. A bigger problem, however, was the costume itself. The pants were itchy, the necklace cheap and the headdress never stayed in place. In short, it was pitiful. "Oh, why do I have to try to put that on?" he pouted.

A glimmer of a smile hinted at Kyouya's face, and he finally relinquished his grip. Tamaki hesitated, his large blue eyes trained on the still-seated Shadow King. "I think you'll change your mind once you put it on," Kyouya said, and gave the blonde a nudge towards the door. Tamaki gave him a weird look, but turned and headed towards a small side room to change.

* * *

When Tamaki poked his head around the corner of his temporary changing room, the twins had arrived and were casually stretched out on a couch near Kyouya. Upon the sound of his door opening, all three had lifted their heads and were now staring at him. "Kyouya?" Tamaki said in a tiny voice. His bespectacled friend raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. "Are you sure this is my paradise costume?"

"Eh, are we doing island tropics again?" Hikaru muttered.

"I'd rather go study in the library with Haruhi," Kaoru murmured, and Hikaru nodded in agreement. They both turned to Kyouya, who still hadn't answered Tamaki. "Can we be excused?" they chimed. Suddenly, Kyouya's typing stopped. His head turned slowly, a dark aura growing over his head. It was almost as though the entire room grew dark, so vicious was his stare towards the twins. Instantly, the boys shrank three sizes and their mouths snapped shut.

The man's gaze flickered, then slid away as he turned towards Tamaki. Back to business as usual. "Is there something wrong with it?" he asked the blonde, who furiously shook no before disappearing back into the closet. A bit of clanging around was heard, before he burst out of the room with a grand smile.

"It is majestic! Amazing! Fantastic!" he cried, strutting about the room in his kingly garb as he threw poses left and right. Around his head was wrapped a grand wrap of a deep green and black designs, contrasting sharply against the golden locks that poked neck was adorned with grand golden jewelry. A sash made of the same fabric as his head wrap stretched over his bare chest. His pants were black with tiny green stripes running down them. As he came closer to Kyouya, the dark-haired man could see tiny golden flowers embroidered around every hem and seam. Even the twins were impressed, and they leapt to their feet to investigate the King's costume closely.

"Very impressive, Tono," Kaoru nodded, running his hand over the sash. "The fabric is incredibly soft."

"It's not as itchy as the other one. These golden flowers are well done."

"It's a million times more magnificent than the last! I can move! I could dance!"

The trio all turned towards Kyouya as the same thought struck them. Hikaru was the first to say it, or ask it, rather. "Where did this come from?" Behind them, Honey,Mori and Haruhi walked in the door, Honey riding on Mori's shoulders. When the small boy saw Tamaki's costume, his eyes grew wide.

"Tama-chan, your costume is so pretty!"

"It looks the same as all of your other costumes, Tamaki-senpai," Haruhi said, unaffected. "Does this one come with a female counterpart too?"

Haruhi's statement blissfully ignored, the blonde spun around before striking a dramatic pose. "I feel like I could rule an island paradise. Don't you agree, Honey-senpai?" The boy nodded earnestly, and the two started chattering away about the King's new clothes like teenage girls. Mori and Haruhi stood by, not sure what all the fuss was about. Meanwhile, the twins had descended upon Kyouya, questions pouring out at a million miles a minute.

"Where did the costume come from?"

"Who made it?"

"What is it made from?"

"Did our mother make this?"

"How long have you had it?"

"Why-"

Kyouya held up a hand to stop them, and a small smile grew on his face. Some habits were too easy to pick up. Letting the smile slip away as he adjusted his glasses, he could see the two lightbulbs in the twin's eyes flip on as they recognized the gesture. Again, Kyouya was barraged with questions.

"She made that?"

"Did she design it as well?"

"Why did she make this?

"How long did it take her?"

"Are you paying her?!" Hikaru's voice was loud enough to catch the attention of everyone in the room. Six pairs of eyes suddenly trained on Kyouya, who seemed unfazed. Instead, he rose to his feet, crossed the room, and opened the door to the room Tamaki had not changed in, beckoning the rest of the group to follow. In a flash, seven pairs of eyes were now peering at the sight inside the Third Music Room's second closet. The room wasn't bigger than 25 by 25 feet, and one window took up the entire far wall. Aside from that, every other square inch of wall was taken up by drawings. Each host had their own division in the room signified by their name and a photo at the very top, and from that many different designs stemmed downward, at least 40 for each individual host. In the middle of the room at a small round table, her fingers neatly intertwined in her lap, sat Genoveva. Seven chairs surrounded her, and Kyouya sat down in one to her left.

"There must be nearly 200 designs in here!" Tamaki cried, immediately dashing over to his corner of the room to inspect Genoveva's work. The twins followed suit, and they shared sounds of interest as the three poured over the drawings on the wall. Haruhi, Mori and Honey instead sat down at the table. Honey, after a moment, found himself too curious and started to wander over to his corner of the room. Mori kept a watchful eye on him, but remained in his seat next to Haruhi, who was nonplussed. After a moment, she collected herself and finally spoke.

"What is this place?" she stammered.

"Our second closet, Haruhi. Don't tell me you haven't noticed it before," Kyouya said simply. He had obviously known about this room for a while, for his gaze did not once travel to the walls around them. "After Tamaki started to demand more and more special event days, I found that our current method of acquiring costumes was not sufficient. I started to look for a better solution. It is actually because of you, Haruhi, that I found Genoveva."

Haruhi couldn't hide the surprise on her face. "Me?"

"Your recommendation earned me the new position as the Host Club's seamstress," Genoveva answered, and the room fell silent yet again. Tamaki turned to the look at the tanned girl who had just spoke with a strange look in his eyes. Reaching over, he clasped his hand on her shoulder, to which she reflexively turned to look at him. "Yes?"

His eyes were as serious as a heart attack. "Can you make me anything I want to be? A prince amongst thieves? A rose in a drought-ridden desert? A dream amongst nightmares?"

"Yes." Genoveva's eyes were as serious as Tamaki's.

* * *

"Kyouya-senpai?"

Dark eyes met hers.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Haruhi looked genuinely worried, and Kyouya actually closed his notebook to listen to her.

"She doesn't know, as of yet," he answered her unvoiced question.

"Is she to know?" Haruhi pressed him.

"That would be up to you, Haruhi."

Genoveva's voice floated up over the general din of the room. Haruhi turned to look at her as she spoke. "Of course, I will need everyone's measurements. I want everything to fit properly, so fittings are necessary as well," she said to Tamaki, but Haruhi was affected the most. Visibly pale, she looked back at Kyouya, pleading.

"I need to pay off my debt," she insisted.

"'If she can reason that from your measurements, even I will be impressed," he replied, cooly flipping his notebook open again.

Haruhi paused as a memory floated in amongst her thoughts.

_As the jacket slipped over her shoulders, Haruhi watched a small frown line appear on the stranger's face. Confusion colored her face as she locked eyes with Haruhi._

_"What an odd fit," she said._

"I think she already knows," Haruhi said quietly.

"Then she is smarter than she lets on," Kyouya muttered, and they both turned to look at Genoveva, still seated on the other side of Kyouya. Genoveva turned, caught their gaze, and flashed a bright smile. Haruhi could feel a shiver run down her spine.

* * *

That was chapter 4. I don't want Genoveva to be some goody-two shoes that Kyouya falls for because of her innoncence and all that fiddly stuff. In my mind, that isn't Kyouya. I hope that makes sense.

If you have any input (suggestions, etc.), feel free to send me a message. : )


	5. Planning a Fiesta!

author's note : my neighbor had chickens in his backyard. I can hear them clucking even when I'm inside my house. I'm not sure how to deal with this.

Also, I had initially intended to have this chapter and chapter 6 combined, but this one ended up being very long. I think they are better split up. Anyway, on to chapter 5!

* * *

"Tamaki, stand still."

"Are you sure these pants aren't too long? Or the coat too short?"

"Tamaki, stand still."

"Maybe there are one too many buttons on the jacket. What do you think, fair maiden?"

"Tamaki, _stand still_."

"One sleeve looks a little bit long- OWWEEE!" The blonde screeched and nearly leapt a foot in the air. Genoveva was just quick enough to snatch the offending pin from the left pant hem before he sank it any deeper into his skin. He shot her a hurt look before saying, "What was that for?"

"I warned you to stand still, and you did anything but. A pin slipped and stuck you," she said simply, setting the pin down on the nearby table. "Now that you're finally standing still, look in the mirror, and tell me what you see," Genoveva coaxed him to stand tall and look at the floor mirror a few feet away. She had tied a white bow tie around his neck, and now carefully straightened it before stepping away. Tamaki's eyes grew wide, and before Genoveva could stop him, a grand smile split his face and he was tackling her in a hug.

"Mon ami! It's beautiful! As grand as the last!" he cried, nearly sweeping her off of her feet in his happiness. His grip was almost crushing. If he was going to be this excited about every new costume, Genoveva silently noted, she would need to start wearing padding.

* * *

Haruhi was sweating bullets on the inside when it was her turn for her fitting. All she could think of where those four words Genoveva had said when they first met: what an odd fit. If this seamstress discovered her secret, she would have to leave the host club. She had just started to enjoy herself here. She couldn't bear to think of leaving. All of her guests would probably never speak to her-

"-Haruhi?" Genoveva was looking at her worriedly, three pins dangling from her mouth. How could she talk like that? Haruhi looked at her with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" she apologized.

"I was explaining your costume to you," she sounded exasperated, "when you started to look a little dazed."

"It has been a long day," Haruhi muttered, before shaking her head and trying to push away her worried thoughts. "Could you tell me again?"

Genoveva took the pins out of her mouth and stuck them into the cushion tied to her wrist. "If you were okay with wearing your Ouran uniform shirt," she started, "then I only need you to try on the charro jacket, pants and bow tie. You can go change in that room, and then we'll see what I need to alter." She held out the suit to Haruhi, who gratefully took it and walked into the changing room. Maybe her secret would be safe after all. Pulling on the jacket and pants, she was happy to find that they fit just like her Ouran uniform. Her fingers worked deftly to tie the deep red bow tie, pausing to look at herself in the mirror. She knew Tamaki had told her that the theme was 'Fiesta!', and that always brought the image to mind of tacky loud mariachi bands and pinatas, but this charro suit looked...elegant. Even she could see that, although she couldn't explain how. Buttoning the jacket, she turned on her heel and walked back out to face Genoveva, who was digging through a box. As Haruhi approached, she could see there were many more colored bow ties in the box.

"Is each host wearing a different color bow tie?" she asked, and Genoveva paused to look up at her, a purple bow tie in her hand.

"Of course," she said, dropping the bow tie and setting the box aside, "for each and every one of you are different." Haruhi ascended the pedestal, and the seamstress took her time to pace around the host. The moment of truth, Haruhi realized. Would she see what she had seen the first night they had met? A slight frown line appeared on Genoveva's forehead, and Haruhi's stomach sank. "Haruhi?" the tanned girl asked.

"Yes?" Haruhi turned her head so she could look at Genoveva, and saw Kyouya sitting not too far away, typing at his laptop. So he was keeping an eye on things, she noted.

"I'll say it now as I said it before: what an odd fit," she reached forward to tug on the girl's jacket, "Are you sure that you gave me your measurements correctly?"

Haruhi hadn't, actually. She'd measured her Ouran uniform, as those were men's clothes, and submitted those as her measurements. Since her conversation with Kyouya, she had been terrified of Genoveva being able to guess her true gender, and had taken all precautions to prevent that. "I think so," she lied. She could feel Kyouya's stare on her, and the sound of typing had stopped.

Genoveva stepped up onto the pedestal, pinching at the side seams of Haruhi's coat. She looked over the loose fabric around Haruhi's shoulders, and awkward cut of her pants. Then she stepped back, but not off the silence as she did this was thick, uncomfortable even. "I think you are lying to me," she said quietly, "and I think I know why."

Kyouya hadn't moved, but he hadn't resumed typing either. "How did you know?" she asked, her voice small. She could feel her heart pounding in her ears.

"It's not exactly easy to disguise a female in a man's suit," she said, and Haruhi could feel the world fall away beneath her feet. She knew. Someone outside the original Host Club knew. She would have to quit and change schools now, surely. Genoveva had attracted quite a bit of attention since Tamaki had let it slip that she was to be the Host Club's seamstress, and if she told but one other student...Haruhi didn't stand a chance. She fidgeted nervously as Genoveva continued, "I'm not going to ask about the circumstances that put you in this position, but this does make my job a little more difficult. We may need to put some padding into this suit in order to make it fit. I'm not exactly sure how I'll do it quite yet."

As Genoveva unbuttoned her jacket to take a closer look at the seams, Haruhi glanced at Kyouya who was writing quickly in his ever-present black notebook. He glanced up at her with an eyebrow raised, then at Genoveva, who was busying herself with the hems of Haruhi's pants, then back to down to his notebook. So he wasn't going to step in. "Are you not going to tell anybody?" she asked quietly, and Genoveva dropped the pant leg in her grip and straightened so that she was looking directly into Haruhi's eyes.

"Why would I do that?" she asked. "It doesn't benefit me in any way if the Host Club disbands." Shock colored Haruhi's face; this hadn't been the response she was expecting. Genoveva continued on as though nothing had happened, a thoughtful thumb pressed to her chin, "Although I will need to get some extra supplies if this is to be the case, and I will need your true measurements now," Genoveva pulled the measuring tape around her neck and handed it to Haruhi, who headed towards the changing room to undress measure herself.

_This went a lot better than I could have imagined_, Haruhi thought as she wrapped the tape around her middle, _although it's interesting that Genoveva only worried about what benefits her. She's a lot like Kyouya-senpai in that sense_.

* * *

"They're too identical," one twin muttered.

"I'm sorry, what?" Genoveva said, eyebrows raised high in disbelief as she spat out the pins in her mouth and stuck them into a pincushion.. They had spent the last ten minutes adjusting the cut of their costumes just so that they would match. Now, one seemed to be displeased, although she hadn't the slightest clue which. She'd only known them for a couple of weeks now, and their faces looked as identical as ever as they pulled down into matching frowns.

"Yes, too identical," the other agreed. What Genoveva didn't know was that a couple of weeks prior to her meeting the twins, they had their pink vs. blue hair showdown to spite the club. Because she'd been taking too long and the twins had grown bored yet again….they had figured they could play the same game with Genoveva. "Don't you think we are getting a little tired of looking the same all the time? Played out, even?" Matching smiles tugged at their lips, for they could see a visible vein of frustration on Genoveva's forehead.

The vein disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced, however, and Genoveva pulled out her cell phone. "Just a moment," she said, dialing. This piqued the twin's curiosity, and they peered over her shoulders, trying to see what she was doing.

"Who are you calling?" one asked.

"Mio Kimura, from my class" Genoveva answered, lifting the phone to her ear, "and one of your devoted regulars. Since you two have decided to no longer behave as twins, I believe it is only polite to inform your most loyal guests of your decision." The twins exchanged glances behind her, then one reached over to snap the phone closed.

"That isn't necessary." he said quietly.

"So you're willing to cooperate, then?" she asked innocently, turning back to face them.

"Yes," the other answered.

"Good. I am as well, as long as we stop playing games," she said, turning to the box beside her. Rummaging through it, she pulled out two bow ties. "Light blue for Hikaru," she held it out and waited for the right twin to pick it up, "and orange for Kaoru. Is that different enough?" The twins tied one another's bow ties, then looked at themselves in the mirror. Their black charro suits were identical save for the bow ties, and they paused for a few moments to look themselves over before speaking. If Genoveva wasn't mistaken, she could see a glimmer of happiness in their eyes.

"We're finished, then?" one twin asked, and they didn't even wait for Genoveva's answer before ducking into the changing closet to put their school uniforms back on. They didn't enjoy having their games finished by someone who wasn't even playing. Genoveva motioned for the next club member.

* * *

"So you know now," a voice said from behind Genoveva, and she turned to look at Kyouya, who had moved to stand on the pedestal. His posture was ramrod straight, and his face calm, but Genoveva could feel that the question was a weighted one. Was Kyouya...worried?

"About Haruhi? Yes." Putting the box of bow ties down, she pulled his costume from the rack and handed it to him. She would continue on as though it was business as usual. "I hope you understand that this means I won't have her costume done by Monday as I had anticipated," she added, looking displeased at the thought of changing her deadline. Still, padding a men's suit to fit a lady was not something she had foreseen when planning out her schedule.

He pushed his glasses up so the sat properly on the bridge of his nose before answering. "Yes, I can see that," he pulled down the zipper on the dress bag, taking a moment to look at the costume. "What is this?"

He had been the first to question her design, and for a moment, she wasn't sure how to react. Did he not like it? For some reason, that truly bothered her. "It is a charro suit," she said, the 'r' rolling neatly off of her tongue. Although Portuguese was her native language, Spanish was not unfamiliar to her. "Mexican horsemen wore similar style suits, and still do when they participate in rodeos. Tamaki insisted our theme was 'Fiesta!', but I find mariachis to be tacky and irritating," she muttered the last bit, frowning a bit at the thought of mariachi music.

Kyouya smiled a little, the costume still held out in front of him. The silver embroidery work on the sleeves was incredible, and judging by the other costumes hanging on the rack, nearly identical. "Tamaki had been so thrilled when I had found the only mariachi band in Japan was available on such short notice," he said, and Genoveva couldn't help but look revolted.

"You're not serious."

"They were dismissed after I listened to their demonstration. Tamaki was convinced that the guests would be more pleased with a traditional band," he said, his glasses catching the light as he moved to examine the costume further.

Genoveva could didn't even have to guess who had done the convincing, looking at how Kyouya spoke with such authority on club matters. He had been the one to recruit her and introduce her, after all, like some sort of shadow King. It seemed to be a good thing, Genoveva noted, as she didn't believe that Tamaki would have gotten far if he had been left in charge of administrative tasks for the club. Kyouya, on the other hand, seemed perfect for the position. She nodded as he now excused himself to change into her design.

He returned rather quickly with only the pants on, the jacket still on the hanger. Together, they looked at his reflection in the mirror. "Impressive," he finally said, and a smile broke on Genoveva's face as she kneeled to straighten the hems on his pants. Although some of the other hosts had complimented her on her work before, it hadn't felt the same as just now.

"It looks like they fit you well," she said, straightening to tug at his waistband. There was a little bit of give, as there should be, and she stepped back again. "It looks better if you put that on as well," she motioned to the jacket in his grip.

He looked at it as if he was surprised it was still there. "I'm impressed that you could reason such a good fit from just some measurements on a piece of paper, Genoveva," he said as he pulled on the coat, "I have underestimated you." His fingers deftly buttoned the front, and he looked to her again.

She could feel a shiver run down her spine as his dark eyes locked on her, but didn't let it show on her face. Quickly, she broke the stare and turned to the box of bow ties. "I hadn't picked a color for you yet," she said, her back to him. Her response to his gaze had made her uncomfortable; she wasn't even sure why she'd done it. A Santos was not the type to shiver from a look, never. She tried to focus on the task at hand, her hand running through the myriad of colors. "Do you have a preference?" Turning, she held the box out towards him.

He considered the question, before brushing aside several bow ties to pull one out. As soon as Genoveva's eyes settled on the light purple shade he had chosen, she knew it was perfect for him. The cool shade matched his cool-type personality perfectly.

"I don't know how I didn't think of that before," she said, watching as he quickly tied the bow tie into a loose bow around his neck. "And it seems you are familiar with the charro suit after all," she smiled, leaning forward to adjust the bow so it lay properly.

Kyouya only looked on in silence, but in his eyes gleamed a hint of pleasure at her realization. Of course he knew. Hitachiin-sama had called several times during the last week to update him on Genoveva's progress, after he'd made a kind donation to her fashion company right before her new line was due to release.

* * *

"Veva-chan, do you like your cake?" Honey asked before plopping another piece into his mouth. The three of them (for Mori was always present wherever Honey went) were seated at Genoveva's small table, and were finishing the cake Honey had presented to her before the fitting. After much deliberation, Honey had naturally received the only strawberry, but Genoveva was grateful for the thoughtful gesture nonetheless. After all, the fittings had taken longer than she had anticipated, and she had missed her dinner. At his question, she looked down at her own slice cake, or what little was left.

"I did, Honey-senpai," she smiled, scooping up the last piece and swallowing it. Not a single crumb had ruined yellow dress, she noted; her governess would no doubt be pleased. "Thank you very much, both of you. Shall we get started?" The little blonde nodded happily, dropping his fork and bounding over to Genoveva, who handed him his costume. As Honey disappeared into the changing room, she turned to Mori. "Would you mind putting on yours as well, Mori-senpai?" she asked, holding out his much larger costume, "You both move more naturally around one another." Mori nodded without a word, and disappeared into Genoveva's temporary design room, or the Third Art Room's second closet.

A few minutes later, they were both standing atop the pedestal. Genoveva worked quickly around them, pinning up Honey's hems, noting to let out Mori's. Finally, Honey broke the silence. "Veva-chan, do we look cute?" he asked innocently, and she paused for a moment to look at them. Mori's protective hand rested on Honey's shoulder, who puffed out his chest in an attempt to look brave.

She couldn't help smiling before returning to her work. "Yes, you do. Have you two known each other very long?" In the time she had spent in the host club, she hadn't had much of a chance to speak to this pair, although she found their bond endearing. No matter where Honey was, Mori was close behind. It reminded her of a father-son relationship, although these two were the same age.

Honey smiled. "Takashi and I have been friends for a very long time! I can always count on him and Usa-chan," he pointed to the stuffed pink rabbit that lay on the table.

Genoveva looked up at the tall, silent protector. "You are lucky to have one another. I only hope I can find something so genuine myself," she aid, watching as Mori finished tying his own bow tie and turned to help tie Honey's pink one.

"Veva-chan, you should get your own Usa-chan too!" Honey cried, completely missing the point.

* * *

author's note : Like I said, this chapter ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated. Please read and review, even if it is just to correct my grammar. I always appreciate feedback.


	6. Playing Kyouya's Game!

author's note: another update! Thankfully I couldn't hear any chickens clucking today, as my headphones finally arrived in the mail. Thank you for your reviews and favorites. It makes me want to update more often. Anyways, on to chapter 6!

* * *

The Host Club's costumes hung neatly inside their dress bags on a rack near the door, ready to be picked up by some of Kyouya's assistants the next morning. With a few hours left to work on Hitachiin-sama's assignment for the week, Genoveva had been carefully cutting out patterns in the studio for most of evening in relative silence. Her cell phone interrupted the steady hum of her sewing machine as she worked to assemble some of the more complex pieces of Hitachiin-sama's collection. She nearly ran the foot of the machine over her thumb in surprise. Picking up the mobile, she flipped it open.

"Genoveva?" Tamaki's voice was at the other end of the line.

"Yes?" She couldn't help feeling confused, why was he calling her so late? It had to be nearly dinnertime by now, and well beyond the acceptable time frame to call somebody.

"Kyouya and I were talking earlier, and we realized that we hadn't asked you about your costume yet. You already have it finished for the event, right?" His voice was unusually serious, it was almost as though she wasn't talking to the same man who had tackled her in joy a few days earlier.

She was supposed to have a costume? "I wasn't aware that I would be attending," she answered, and it was the truth. The entire week before, she had been thinking about nothing but the costumes for the hosts, not the event itself. Now that she thought about it, however, it made sense. What if one of the sleeves ripped? Not that it should, but still…It was better to be safe than sorry.

"Of course you will be coming! You're a dedicated member of our club, and we want to naturally introduce our guests to the designer of these amazing costumes!" That was more like the Tamaki she had met. As he rambled on about the importance of her attendance, however, she ran hand through her hair, visibly exhausted. She'd have...two days to complete her costume from start to finish. That wasn't a lot of time, considering she usually only spent about 2 hours in the studio a day. As Tamaki continued to talk, she pulled out a pencil and her sketchbook. She may as well get started now.

* * *

Genoveva had been told that Host Club events were grand affairs, and they never held anything back in terms of theme. She had dismissed these stories as the overactive imaginations of love-struck girls. After all, how could the Host Club find the time to plan these events? How could they decorate, coordinate a band and party games, and transform a ballroom into a whole new world?

However, as she stood now at the top of the staircase, she knew the ladies of Ouran had been telling nothing short of the truth. The fluorescent bulbs in chandeliers that usually lit the ballroom were gone, replaced with tiny lights meant to mimic stars on a clear night. Paper banners with festive Mexican cut-outs hung even with the top of the star case, creating a layer of warm blues, reds, greens and oranges. Small lights crisscrossed at this level to cast the floor and its guests in a warm glow reminiscent of a warm summer night. Although Genoveva had seen the sight before on her travels at her father's side, she couldn't help but be awestruck at the way the Host Club had perfectly bought that atmosphere into the stoic ballroom.

Descending the staircase, she spotted Haruhi standing near a long buffet line and walked over. The host seemed to be absorbed in her own world, nearly drooling at the sight of various Mexican dishes piled high on the tables before her. "Haruhi?" Genoveva tried to shake her from her thoughts, and the host blinked before flashing a warm smile.

"Doesn't it look delicious?" she said, her mind still obviously on the food before them. "I don't know what any of it is, but it smells amazing." It seemed that the conversation the two had at her fitting had fallen on the back burner, for neither Haruhi nor Genoveva had brought it up since. She had spent a few extra hours padding out Haruhi's suit, and the host had come over a lunch break for an extra fitting. "Do you recognize any of this, Genoveva?" Haruhi asked.

Looking over the plates of enchiladas, tamales and taquitos, she pointed a few out that the host should try. "My father and I always liked to stop in local taquerias when we traveled," she explained, when Haruhi cast her a surprised glance.

"I knew you were a transfer student, but Kyouya-senpai never explained where you transferred from," Haruhi put a thoughtful finger to her chin. "Are you from Mexico?"

"No, actually. I was born in Brazil," she corrected, and Haruhi accepted the explanation. She excused herself to pick out some of the Mexican dishes to add to her plate, and Genoveva turned away to look over the room of happy guests. Some were playing with a pinata in the far corner, others were dancing on the floor near a band, and even more were simply chatting away while enjoying the catering. It was a great party, to say the least, and she was happy some of her work had made it in the door.

* * *

A blur of blond hair swept into her vision, and suddenly, Tamaki was bowing before her. "You look lovely," he smiled, taking her hand and kissing it gently. Genoveva looked down at the costume she had sketched out not three days earlier while on the phone with this very gentleman. The garment was simple, with a boat-neck flowing white top tucked into a high-waisted flowing black skirt, but she had found a vivid floral fabric to cut up into strips and add some much needed color to the garment. She'd tucked some red and yellow flowers into her loose curls, and tied a yellow sash around her waist. For such short notice, she was rather pleased with the look herself.

"Thank you," she bowed slightly, but he still hadn't let go of her hand.

"I have some guests who have been asking after you all night," he pulled her along to a group of waiting ladies, all in colorful gowns of their own. They bowed upon seeing Genoveva, then all eyes turned to Tamaki. "This is the designer of our costumes tonight, ladies. Her name is Genoveva. Hasn't she done a magnificent job?" he spun to show the silver embroidery, catching one girl by the waist and leading her to the dance floor. Genoveva couldn't miss the starstruck look on the girl's face as he masterfully danced with her on the floor, then turned her attention to the remaining two girls. One she recognized from her class, the other was a mystery to her. Both were looking at the colorful print on her skirt in awe.

"It's lovely, Genoveva," one finally said, "I had no idea that you could sew so well. Is this why you always leave class so quickly? I thought you were just happy to go home."

"I work in a studio after school as well," Genoveva smiled a polite little smile. It wasn't the first time she had heard compliments on her work, and she certainly hoped it wouldn't be the last, for she wanted her name up in lights.

"I really like the host's costumes too. Don't tell me that you did the embroidery yourself," the girl continued, her eyes travelling to where Tamaki was spinning about on the dance floor. From where they stood, the silver on his jacket caught the lights like tiny sparkling stars.

"I did," Genoveva said simply. "Their costumes were about a week and a half long project for me. It's the biggest event I've taken on so far." That was true. Hitachiin-sama usually only let her work on one piece at a time. She insisted it was critical to improve on her basic skills.

"It must be nice getting to be around the Host Club all the time," the other finally said, looking dazed at the thought.

"Oh, I can't even imagine!" the other girl squealed, and Genoveva took the opportunity to quietly slip away. Chattering away about every boy in the Host Club was not the way she had hoped to spend her evening. She wouldn't even know what to say; she hadn't known the hosts that long.

Before she knew it, she found herself at the dessert end of the buffet table, right in front of a large slab of what looked like tres leches cake. The sweetest of sweets, soaked in three different kinds of milk, it was a rare occasion when Genoveva would be allowed to have a slice of the pastry. Without hesitation, she picked up a plate and took a small corner of the cake to a nearby table, not particularly paying attention to whom else was there. Picking up her fork, she carefully dug into the cake, a happy little smile on her face.

"I'm glad I caught you, Genoveva," a cool voice said, and she struggled to keep a hold of her fork. Looking up, she found Kyouya sitting across the table, his laptop open before him but his eyes trained on her. Gently, she laid the fork down next to her plate.

"I thought you said that you entertained guests at these events," she said quietly, barely loud enough for him to hear.

"When a guest asks me to dance, I will gladly do so," a polite smile stuck on his face, he moved to a seat next to Genoveva so he didn't have to yell over the music. "Feedback on your costumes has been very positive. Tamaki is head over heels with the overall effect, and I must say that I'm very impressed myself."

The compliment helped to wash away the frozen feeling Genoveva had, and she neatly dabbed at her mouth with the napkin next to her plate. "Thank you. Tamaki had already introduced me to a few admirers," she said, laying the napkin back down and checking her clothes for crumbs. There were none to be seen, of course, but it helped to avoid the dark-haired man's stare. "Any problems you've seen with the costumes?"

"None as of yet," he tugged at the light purple bow tie around his neck, adjusting it so it lay properly. "I suppose we didn't need you as a seamstress at the event itself. Your costumes are holding up very well."

"So I am excused to go home?" she asked. In her mind, she wished that he would say no. Genoveva hated to leave a party early, especially when there was more cake to be had. She wondered if he could see the pleading look in her eyes.

"I'm afraid not," he adjusted his glasses and pulled a small stack of papers out from inside his charro jacket. What reason could he make up to have her stay? When Tamaki had called, he had said she was only coming in case something happened to her designs. Without that, she was just another guest. "You see, there is the matter of your contract," he held out the papers to her, and he recognized it as the same document she had signed a few weeks earlier.

"What about it?"

"I would like to make a correction to the term. Technically, this document states that you would be finished after one run of costumes for the Host Club. I would like to amend that to you staying on indefinitely."

"Indefinitely," she breathed. That was a dangerous word in the world of contracts; Genoveva knew that much. Her father would have set light to any document that spelled out 'indefinitely' in a heartbeat.

Kyouya could see the look of hesitation in her eyes, and tapped the last paragraph on the page with the end of his pen. "You are free to leave at any time. The only reason for the correction is so that the contract reflects how long the Host Club is willing to pay you for your services," he said, handing the pen to her.

She held the pen centimeters from where she was to sign. The silence between them grew thick. "Under one condition," she said, laying it down.

Kyouya raised his eyebrows in interest. She was making demands? "And what condition is that?"

"My contract says that I only make costumes for the hosts of the Host Club," she read directly from the page in front of them. "I'm afraid that so far, I haven't seen you play host to a single guest, so I'm not contractually obligated to make you another costume." A smile broke on her face as she leaned a little closer to him. "Prove to me that you are the cool-type host you claim to be, and I will gladly sign the new contract."

If Kyouya was surprised, he didn't let it show. Instead, his hand deftly grabbed hers, and before she knew it, they were halfway to the dance floor. The band in the corner had been playing slow music all night, the trumpet adding a subtle latin flavor to every song. Genoveva didn't know what to expect; what kind of dancer would the shadow King be? She'd seen Tamaki's flamboyance, Mori's protective guiding, the back and forth partner dancing between the twins, Haruhi's clumsy innocence, and Honey's child-like sweetness as she had stood atop the staircase earlier that night. But Kyouya, he was a mystery to her. A carefully-guarded man, she wasn't sure if this would turn out to be a disaster or a delight. He had led her to dance floor without a moment's hesitation, though.

And that thought alone thrilled her.

As the song began, Kyouya wasted no time in placing a hand on Genoveva's waist and clasping the other tight to their side. She quickly recognized the wandering beat of the waltz coming through the band's music, and Kyouya was elegantly guiding her through the steps. Thankfully, he hadn't moved to hold her like her dancing instructor had, with arms wide and splaying. No, Kyouya had insisted on keeping her close. Whether that made it easier for him to lead or for another reason, she had no clue. Silence fell between the pair as they discovered the movement of one another's bodies, learned the rhythm of the music, and matched practiced steps.

Before long, his movements became her habit, and she gained enough control to move with his winding, spinning steps to look him in the eyes. They'd been trained on her this entire time, watching her pick up on his skilled movements, and his gaze sent shivers up her spine. "You're well-practiced," she said, her voice only loud enough for him to hear. Her grip tightened on his hand as she grew more confident in their dancing. "Who taught you?"

"I've cycled through several different social dance instructors. An Ootori is expected to know how to dance," he said stiffly, and Genoveva detected a tone of discomfort in his voice. Was this a forced exercise? For a moment, she felt silly for enjoying their closeness. He was only a host, after all. What had she expected from making her ridiculous demand?

"Kyouya Ootori," she repeated, realizing that she hadn't learned of his last name until this point. The name rang familiar; she had seen it on the hospital wing where she'd gone for her updated vaccinations. But he didn't need to be reminded of his own importance. More than anything, she just wanted that stiffness to disappear from his voice. What was making him so uncomfortable? "Haruhi mentioned that you already knew I was a transfer student from Brazil. Have you been reading my files?" she prodded, trying to get him to relax.

"Transfer student documents are blocked from my access," his glasses caught the lights as he spoke, and Genoveva could almost feel a barrier between them. This was wrong. The waltz was an elegant dance, meant to symbolize two travelling as one. Silence fell between them again, this time thick and tense. The song slowly came to its end, and Genoveva moved to leave the dance floor. For some reason, she could feel disappointment welling up in her chest. Maybe he wasn't meant to be host, and that's why he kept his head buried in his little black notebook.

But Kyouya's grip remained steadfast on her hand and waist, and he pulled her back for the next song. Confusion colored her face, and she struggled to keep up with his movements as her mind spun with a million different thoughts. "What are you doing?" she stammered, when her feet caught up with his and they finally moved as a single unit.

"Ootori's are never finished after just one dance," he said, spinning her out on his arm and letting her twirl back in time to the beat. "Does a Santos quit so easily?"

Genoveva was about to shoot back a biting remark when it hit her: the cold shoulder had been an act. It was punishment for her claiming that he wasn't a host. Apparently, Kyouya was also capable of playing games, as calculated and manipulative as they were. A grin split her face. If it was a game he wanted to play, then they would play with her rules. She didn't even need to let him know that she was willing to play. "A Santos never quits. I just hope that you can keep up," she winked, and taking advantage of their proximity to the band, signaled for them to pick up the beat.

The band caught on, and the slow song was suddenly shoved aside under the rapid beats of a salsa rhythm. Her feet were blur as she moved effortlessly through the fast-paced steps, her skirt swirling out like a colorful flower. She could see Kyouya's mind worked overtime as matched her every move, his eyes never leaving her face as they danced and moved across the floor. Her heart pounded in her chest; she could see the focus in his eyes. For a moment she was the leader, then he dipped her low and suddenly Kyouya was back in charge, lead the movements about the dance floor. They were breathless when the music slowed into a waltz again, and for a moment, didn't move from their positions pressed up against one another. In the silence, he moved to pull her loose curl back into place and Genoveva relaxed, their bodies naturally separating. "Impressive," she breathed, and he nodded.

"I don't think you'll find a dance where I can't keep up, Genoveva. What I do, I do well," he pushed his glasses so the sat properly on the bridge of his noses again, and together they moved to the beat of the music out of habit, having memorized each other's steps.

"Then why did you come to me for help?" Genoveva said, enjoying the warmth of his body against hers as they moved about the dance floor. "If you do it all so well, you would've gotten it right the first time."

"I don't sew," he answered simply. "Just like you don't resist tres leches cake."

"How did you know?"

"Hitachiin-sama mentioned it in her phone calls." There was the mystery again. He had an answer for everything. Whether he shared it with others, however, seemed to be at only his discretion. The silence grew between them again, several songs passed, until he asked,"So how am I doing?"

Genoveva had drifted into a daze of music and warmth, but his words jolted her out of it. Looking up to him, she saw that his eyes were half-lidded. All sense of earlier stiffness had disappeared; Kyouya was truly at ease as they moved automatically together. "What do you mean?"

"How am I doing as the cool-type host? These dances were for your evaluation, after all."

She'd nearly forgotten her demands, but now the conversation they'd had before he pulled to the dancefloor floated in among her many thoughts. She glanced at their hands clasped tight, felt his warm hand on her waist and the warmth of their bodies pressed close together. "Give me one more dance to find out," she said quietly, as the song came to an end.

"Of course," Kyouya nodded, but the chance for one more dance would not come.

"Excuse me," a high-pitched voice cut into their reverie. Both Genoveva and Kyouya's heads snapped toward the sound, and made eye contact with a 1st year girl who Genoveva had pushed past when following Kyouya to the dance floor. Apparently she had finally worked up the courage to cut in. "May I have this dance, Kyouya-senpai?" Genoveva looked back at Kyouya, what was already staring at her. They both hesitated, before he bowed slightly towards Genoveva, and placed a chaste kiss on her hand.

"Of course," he turned to the girl, taking her hand and beginning to dance, leaving Genoveva alone in the middle of the dance floor.

Genoveva found herself back in front of her cake before she knew she had even moved. Her fork hungrily dug into the sweet, enjoying the taste of sweet cream. She would forever remember this night as the night she had made Kyouya Ootori hesitate.

* * *

author's note: Goodness, another long chapter. Good thing I split 5 and 6, huh? As always, please read and review. It truly helps.


	7. A Call From Father!

author's note : I've been using this story as a break from my summer assignments. I've cranked out six assignments in the past three days as a result! That's what I call productive, and I'm sure you all don't mind the updates. Thank you to everyone who has favorited, reviewed and followed. Onwards to chapter 7!

* * *

"Feedback on last week's event was outstanding, as always. Profit from Renge's doushinji increased by 23% this week, and-" Kyouya stopped as he heard the classroom door open. Rarely did anyone come back to the room during the class's lunch hour, as the cafeteria served foods finer than what could be brought from home. Tamaki, who was seated on his own desk with his feet resting on the edge of the desk one row over, also looked up at the sound. Genoveva stood in the doorway, a lunch bag in her hand.

"Hello," she bowed, before carefully winding her way through the rows of desks and setting her lunch bag down on the desk next to Kyouya. "You called me in?" Her eyes purposely avoided Kyouya's gaze and instead focused on the task at hand: unwrapping her lunch. Both boys looked on in silence as she pulled out a small sandwich and several tropical fruits, along with a slender glass bottle of a liquid neither recognized. It was strange enough to see someone bring their lunch from home at Ouran.

Finally, Kyouya came to his senses and pushed up his glasses so that they sat properly on his nose. "Yes, I did. Tamaki and I were discussing the theme for our upcoming Host Day, and were wondering if you had any input," he said, looking down at his notebook and starting to write.

"Yes, Genoveva!" Tamaki seemed to have come out of his daze as well, and he leapt to his feet. "The last event was a rousing success, but this Host Day must be better! It may just be another club meeting in the courtyard, but it must be spectacular! Amazing!" His eyes sparkled in delight, and Genoveva looked up from her lunch to see him inches away from her face. "Did you have any suggestions?"

"I didn't think you were capable of running out of costume ideas, Tamaki," she said, eyes on the blonde as she deftly peeled a small orange. "I'm sure you have something in mind."

"I did, but Mommy doesn't like it," he pouted. There was that 'Mommy' again. What did it even mean? For the first time since she'd walked in, her gaze travelled to the raven-haired 'Mommy' seated to her left. He seemed unaffected by the term, instead choosing to continue to write in his black notebook. In fact, it seemed that he was in a different world altogether. Did he even remember their dances a few nights ago? Her heart certainly did. Did he remember leaving her abandoned in the middle of the dance floor for another guest? Because her heart remembered that too. She wished she knew what he was thinking, but it seemed that Kyouya had a talent for keeping himself a mystery, and that frustrated Genoveva more than anything. "-we could have a saloon, and live horses, and-"

"A western theme?" Genoveva had only caught the end of his words, not realizing that the blonde had still been rambling on as she had sank into her thoughts. "I suppose the air of the rugged cowboy does appeal to your guests, doesn't it?" She could see Kyouya's pen hesitate out of the corner of her eye. What thought had struck him? It was no matter, for moments later the pen had started up again.

"Exactly! The lone ranger, thousands of miles from home, fighting bandits and wild creatures all to see the love of his life one last time," Tamaki gushed, running his thumbs through his belt loops and striking a steadfast pose. It seemed that he truly believed in these roles they were portraying, to a point where Genoveva wasn't sure if he knew that they were just putting on costumes. "Does this pose strike inspiration in your heart, Genoveva? Or this?" He ran through several stances, each more dramatic than the last, until they were interrupted by the samba beat of Genoveva's cell phone ringing. Her eyes suggested that she recognized the rhythm, and she rose quickly to her feet.

"Excuse me for just a moment," she said, before walking out of the room. The boys could hear a faint "Olá, pai, como-" before the door slid shut behind her.

Without an audience, Tamaki sank back into his natural self. He leaned against Genoveva's desk, careful not to disturb her lunch, and turned his attention to the silent man sitting to the left. "I never did ask, Kyouya. Did you enjoy our Fiesta?"

Kyouya never stopped writing. "Of course I did," he replied curtly.

"I had a lovely time dancing with all the beautiful guests," Tamaki swooned, his hand coming up to rest against his forehead and eyes becoming dreamy. He truly did enjoy these events; it was easy to see. "I believed that I was seeing things at one point, however," he said, his hand dropping down to his side. His eyes were trained on his bespectacled friend, who was focused intently on his notebook.

"Why do you say that?"

"I saw you, Kyouya, dancing with a guest. Several times, in fact," he prodded, trying to provoke a reaction, anything. Kyouya was never one to dance at Host Club functions; Tamaki had rarely seen it happen. He was more than often trained on his laptop or his notebook, staying shut up in his own little world. But, on that night, Tamaki had seen something Kyouya he'd seen on that night had been openly smiling, enjoying himself thoroughly at the hands of Genoveva. "Even though it was only one lovely princess that captured most of your night."

"What of it?" Kyouya snapped, but Tamaki could see the glimmer of a smile on the man's lips. That was all Tamaki needed, in a moment he was crushing Kyouya in a hug.

"Oh, Kyouya! You were so happy! I've never seen you smile-" Tamaki cried.

"What are you doing?" Genoveva had returned, and was hovering in the doorway. Kyouya quickly pushed the blonde off of him, letting him crash to the floor.

"Nothing," he said, not looking at her.

Tamaki rose to his feet and dusted himself off before looking at Genoveva, a sight to which he froze. "Oh, my princess, what's wrong? You look heartbroken!" he cried, running towards her to envelop her in a hug. She lifted a hand to stop him, sending him crashing to the floor yet again. Her hair had become frazzled, probably from her habit of running her hands through it when she was stressed, and she attempted some damage control as Tamaki composed himself. In a moment, she was back to her normal self.

"Nothing," she said, starting to pack away her half-eaten lunch. For moment, the silence was thick between the group. She quickly changed the subject. "Are you decided on a Western theme?" Tamaki, spurred by the thought of a new costume, immediately dropped the subject and nodded earnestly. "I consider it a done deal then. I think I can get the preliminary sketches done by this afternoon," she said thoughtfully, "and probably be able to make a trip to the fabric boutique in the city after classes today." Counting the days out on her fingers, she muttered something incoherent before looking back up at Tamaki. "Fittings next Wednesday afternoon?" she asked, bracing herself for what she knew was coming: a tackling hug.

* * *

The last bell rang at precisely 3 pm. Genoveva snapped her sketchbook shut, having managed to finish most of her preliminary designs. Enough to go to the fabric boutique, anyway. That was always her favorite part of sewing, digging through piles and piles until just the right swatch came into view. And once you knew, you knew. The only thing standing between you and your best design to date was a little digging. She tucked away her sketchbook and moved to clear her desk when a shadow fell over her. Looking up, she saw Kyouya standing not 3 inches away, snapping his notebook shut to look at her.

"I will be accompanying you to buy your fabrics," he said.

"Why?" she stammered, losing her cool demeanor. She tried to turn back to the task at hand: packing her bag. No one ever came along when she went to buy fabric. Hitachiin-sama apparently found the process 'too stressful', and was all too happy to hand off the task to Genoveva. The thought of anyone, especially Kyouya, accompanying her now made her uncomfortable. "I can do it by myself just fine. You've seen the results."

"I trust you can."

"And I'm sure you're very busy," her voice was growing quieter, and she struggled to keep her hands still as she put away her textbook. "You don't need to waste your time following me around."

"Do you not want me to come?" he asked, running a finger along her chin and forcing her to look at him. Instinctively, she shut her eyes tight. She couldn't look into those dark eyes, it was like looking into the sun. He had been so cold, so distant lately. How did that make sense, when she' could've sworn he hesitated before letting her go that night? It had been all she could think about in the days since the event. She could hear him shift, and when he spoke again, his warm breath was on her ear. "I'm afraid that isn't an option. I need to keep an eye on you, Genoveva, for you have not yet signed your contract."

It all clicked, and suddenly Genoveva could feel her confidence flooding back through her veins. She shot to her feet, slinging her bag over her shoulder before looking him squarely in the eye. "You're afraid of losing me," she stated.

Kyouya pushed his glasses up on his nose so that they caught the light. "That," he paused, searching for the words, "is your opinion. I'm coming along because I have the Host Club charge card. I'm afraid I don't know you quite well enough to trust you with it."

And in a flash, his walls were back up.

* * *

They rode in silence in Kyouya's limousine to the Fabric Warehouse, a smooth white building that towered high into the sky and filled to the brim with every fabric 'd given the driver instructions to return in a few hours. Now, they stood staring at a long directory. Instead of being organized by names, the directory was organized by textiles, each floor housing a different group. "I'll need a couple of different fabrics," Genoveva muttered, the names becoming a white blur as she scanned through them, "Some twill denim….poplin….seersucker, if they have it. Keep up, Kyouya." She had wandered towards the elevators and looked back to see Kyouya still standing in front of the directory.

At her call, he strode over. "How many floors do we need to visit?" he asked, glancing at his watch.

"3," she answered, hitting the button for the 4th floor. A few seconds later they stepped out onto the basket-weave fabrics floor. At the front, a row of tables sat with several books laid open. Towards the back, what seemed like endless rows of shelves holding fabric bolts wound off into the distance. Genoveva, without hesitation, took a seat at the nearest table and began to flip through the book there. Kyouya leaned over her shoulder to follow along.

"What is this?" he asked.

She didn't stop flipping through the pages, obviously looking for a particular section "Consider it a more detailed version of what is downstairs. This directory lists the composition and details of every fabric on their floor, along with a small swatch. I'm copying down their locations so that we can find them more quickly." She never paused to look at him. "Are you in a rush, Kyouya?"

"Not at all."

"Because I wouldn't want to keep you waiting," she pressed, never looking up from the book."I know you're a busy man with a Host Club to run." Her tone was indifferent, and it took Kyouya a moment to realize that she was mocking him. His hand swiftly pinned hers to the table in a pincer-like grip. He could hear her gasp. Then her gaze turned on him, eyes burning. "What do you think you're doing?"

His fingers had slipped down to intertwine with hers. Still, his face kept a calm appearance. "Keeping an eye on you," he said stiffly. What a terrible save.

Her eyes travelled down to their hands, and a wary eyebrow raised as she met his gaze again. "Is that what you call this?"

"Yes," he answered numbly.

She rose to her feet and pulled her hand away from his. "You should be careful then," she whispered, brushing past him to walk towards the aisles of fabrics. She disappeared around the bend. "Some people may mistake that for something else," her voice trailed over the edge of the fabric rows. She glanced down at her location sheet with a smile. If that didn't drive him up a wall, she wasn't sure what would. He had slipped up, admitted to a feeling neither had brought up before that point. And that thought alone thrilled her because it meant that maybe he had played host not just because she had asked him to.

She stopped at her first bundle of fabrics on the list, the cotton plaids. No cowboy costume was complete without a little plaid, and Genoveva had already decided to work the host's colors into their costumes again. Looking at the shelves filled with many colors and scales of the print, she realized she had come to the right place. Now where was-

A hand gripped her wrist, spun her around and pinned her to the wall of fabric. The other hand was also soon pinned, and Kyouya's face was inches from hers. His glasses were crooked, his breath heavy and hot on her face. For a moment, Genoveva's mind went completely blank. Not a single manipulation or jumbled expression ran through her thoughts. Kyouya was close, so close, that she couldn't look anywhere but into those dark eyes. She felt herself falling into them, head over heels, drowning into the dark pools until his voice broke her daze. "I said I was here to keep an eye on you," he insisted, as if trying to convince her, but it was far too late for that.

It was not too late to play games, however. Genoveva pointed to his breast pocket with one of her pinned hands. "I thought you were here to keep an eye on the charge card," she taunted, remembering that he had his wallet tucked away there. His eyes narrowed, he leaned in closer so that their noses were touching.

"You should be careful," he borrowed her words, eyes glinting with something sinister, "If you don't want to pay with this charge card, I'll find other ways of making you pay." His grip tightened on her hands, she could feel the heat of his body close to hers.

"You? Don't you mean the Host-"

"I," he interrupted roughly, pushing her harder against the shelves, "will make you pay."

"I think you shouldn't be so worried about settling my debt with you, when you still have one to settle with me," she tried her hardest to seem unfazed, but his roughness had shook her. It seemed like he was a pressure valve, only capable of letting out short bursts of emotion at a time. It didn't scare her so much as intrigue her. Why did he have such a short leash on his personality? His eyes drilled into hers, but he said nothing. "Oh, you don't remember?" she teased, her eyes glinting, "I requested one last dance, a request never fulfilled. That's why I haven't signed your contract."

He dropped her wrists, looking thoughtful as he straightened his tie and glasses. After a moment, he motioned to invite her to dance. "Come," he said, a stark difference in tone from the rough Kyouya she'd seen not two minutes earlier. Was he that desperate to have her sign a contract? It was meaningless, after all, he'd said so himself.

She shook her head, turning her attention back to the shelves of fabric. "Oh no, not now. I am very busy right now, designing costumes for the Host Club," she waved dismissively, pulling down several bolts of fabric and piling them into his arms. If she had turned around, she would've seen Kyouya's eyebrows raise high in surprise. "Also, you are very busy carrying these for me. Come, we have a lot of work to do." She strode further down the aisle, a confident little smile sneaking up on her face.

* * *

It was like the scene from when she first met them: the twins came barging into the studio, dragging a reluctant Haruhi behind them. This time, however, they knew Genoveva was there, and it was obvious they were looking for her. Their loud footsteps echoed off the walls as they strode over to where she crouched near a dress form, carefully hemming a gown. The sound stopped, and she knew they were standing behind her. "Where have you been?" one twin's voice asked as he circled around into her field of vision.

"We haven't seen you at the Host Club for a few weeks," the other added, circling about the other way.

Genoveva dropped the hem in her hands and straightened to look at both of them. "I'm very busy," she said, before turning back to the gown, "making costumes for the Host Club."

"That doesn't look like one of our costumes," one twin said.

"Aren't they hanging over there? They look finished," the other was pointing over her shoulder to where she knew the western-themed costumes were hanging. They were finished.

"If you would like, you can take them with you. I have other things to do," she snapped, and the twins took a step back. She hadn't used such a curt tone with them before.

"The Boss sent us to come get you for our meeting today," one said quietly, eyes travelling to the emerald gown Genoveva had been working on when they came in.

"You can tell him that I'm busy too," she said, playing with the hem on the gown again. The twins shared identical twin looks of surprise. They pulled out a cell phone and walked out of the room. Haruhi, who had been standing quietly behind one of the twins, watched Genoveva work for a moment.

"Is the Host Club giving you too much work?" she finally asked, and Genoveva stopped to look at her. Haruhi had a knack for making Genoveva instantly feel at ease; it had to be something in her comforting tone.

She shook her head. "Not at all," she sighed, picking up a large white sheet and covering the gown. "My father just won't stop calling. There isn't really a word for 'host club' in Portuguese, so he's under the impression that I'm sewing for some all-male brothel." She ran a hand through her hair, and for the first time, Haruhi could see true exhaustion in her eyes. "As you can imagine, he's not too thrilled."

"Oh," Haruhi couldn't say that she understood; this was a unique problem. "Does he not want you to work with the Host Club anymore?"

"He wants me to come home where he can train me to work in the family business," she muttered, obviously displeased with the idea. Haruhi cocked her head; Genoveva had never mentioned what exactly her family did in Brazil, only that her father was a powerful man. Santos wasn't even a name she recognized, but that came to no surprise. She'd found that she had to Google a lot of the names of students at Ouran. Maybe she could just...ask her? Her only computer was at the library, and she already spent enough time there as it was.

"What does your family-"

"Haruhi!" The twins had returned, and were motioning for the young host to come with them. "Give the Boss a call so you can reschedule our fittings, Genoveva. When you're not so busy."

Genoveva did not turn to look at them, instead choosing to stare at the project she had just covered up. "Fittings will still be tomorrow night as I proposed. If we could relocate here to the studio, that would be a great help," she called over her shoulder. When she heard the door shut a few moments later, she assumed that they had agreed.

Her head sank into her hands. Halfway around the world, she still couldn't break away from the Santos name. "You're my last shot," she whispered to the gown before her.

* * *

author's note: there goes chapter 7. This has been a great practice in dialogue, that's for sure. Hopefully you see some sort of improvement As always, read and review!


	8. Making Progress!

author's note : I do not own Josh Turner's delightful song. Or the OHSHC series, for that matter. I do, however, own Genoveva and the stellar results that posting this story have brought me. 10 reviews! Thank you so much. Onward to chapter 8!

* * *

The sun had set hours ago, and now the studio was lit by artificial fluorescent lights that gave Genoveva headaches if she worked too long. Typically, she'd use that as a sign that she was done for the day, pack up and go home. Tonight was not a typical night, however, and now she was forced to rummage around in her schoolbag for aspirin as the pounding in her head numbed her thoughts. She didn't like headaches, and her mood always soured quickly when she had one. Her fingers wrapped around the plastic pill bottle and she was quick to snap off the lid and down a double dose. Almost instantly, the pounding on her skull seemed to lessen.

"Are you okay?" Tamaki asked from his pedestal in front of the mirror. His worried gaze fell on a girl who looked like she had been worked to the bone, wearing a purple dolman blouse and a pair of dark wash skinny jeans. She'd peeled off the uniform as soon as she'd arrived at the studio, not wanting to work in the pale yellow frock.

In an instant, her face changed and she was flashing him her polite little smile. "I'm fine," she insisted, before rising to her feet and pacing around him. Slim cut denim jeans stretched over a pair of hand-embellished cowboy boots. Tamaki pulled on the leather belt around his waist and looked down at the plaid button-down shirt.

"I'm not thrilled about it," he finally said, looking sad. Oddly enough, Genoveva only smiled in return. She held out a black dress bag towards him.

"Good. This is your re-done costume," she watched as he nearly leapt a foot into the air before rushing to change. In a flash, he had returned and was strutting in front of the mirror with a grand smile on his face. He wore a dark brown pair of pants which covered the same boots he had been wearing earlier, but with a pair of dulled spurs jutting out the back. His button-down shirt was white now, with a black vest over it and a red handkerchief tied around his neck.

After a few moments, he stopped to look at her. "How do you do it, Genoveva?"

She'd been tapping her pencil on an empty sketchbook page waiting for him to finish admiring himself. At the sound of his voice, she looked up. "Do what?" she asked.

"Make all of these lovely costumes?"He started to walk towards the changing screen as he talked. "It's a magnificent talent. I amazed you haven't taken the chance to spread your name more," he said, and she could hear him shifting to change back into his school uniform.

"Oh, I haven't thought about it," she lied, looking back down at her notebook. She had thought about it. She'd nearly applied to a design school in Paris, but her stubborn father had shot down the thought the moment she tried to have him sign the application. Too public, he had insisted, he didn't want to risk his only successor getting hurt. She frowned as her pencil broke on the page. It was all a lie. Her father just didn't want her to stray too far from the family business.

Looking up, she saw that Tamaki was buttoning his uniform jacket. "You should branch out," he smiled, "more people deserve to know about Genoveva." With that, he swept up her hand and gave it a light kiss before striding out of the studio, leaving her with her thoughts.

He was her last fitting for the day, and she could technically go home, but…The sketchbook in front of her mocked her with its blankness. She needed to put away all of these distracting thoughts about her paranoid father and just...work. There was only one way she could properly focus, she realized, and she rose to her feet. Crossing the studio floor, she plugging her mp3 player into the dock and pressed play, letting soft Latin piano music fill the room. Instantly, her mind felt at ease. It almost wiped away the remnants of her headache better than the aspirin had. Sitting back down at the table, she replaced her broken pencil and-

-was interrupted by the door opening quietly. Hitachiin-sama must have left something in the studio. She was always leaving her purse behind. Genoveva tried to ignore it, and focus on the task at hand, but suddenly a bag of something that smelled delicious was plopped down in front of her, and a very familiar voice spoke from over her shoulder.

"I'm glad I ran into you, Genoveva," Kyouya said, and she could feel her blood run cold before clocking into double time, send her heart nearly pounding out of her chest. Calmly, he walked around the table and sat down with an identical bag of food. He'd apparently come from home, as he was dressed in a black button-down and a pair of slim grey pants..

"What are you doing here?" she breathed, unable to look anywhere but the man's dark eyes behind his glasses. He wasn't supposed to be here, yet he was. He wasn't supposed to be folding open boxes of rice, but he was. "What is this?" her voice was a little shriller this time. It looked and smelled like cheap take-out, but it just didn't seem to add up in her mind. Kyouya eating...take-out? Yet there he was, unwrapping a pair of chopsticks and digging into an unfamiliar chicken dish, mixing it with the white rice layered beneath.

"I'm here to check on my employee," he finally said after swallowing his first bite of food, "and her progress."

"With cheap take-out?" His reasoning didn't sound illogical, but the food he had brought did. Although it wasn't like she wasn't hungry…

"It comes packaged as to not make a mess of your work and was on the way," he said simply, continuing to eat. Carefully she unfolded her own box and prodded around in it with the chopstick provided. Hers seemed identical to his dish, and after a moment, she hesitantly took a bite. It was good, and she continued to eat slowly, reminding herself that it was inappropriate to upend a box of food into your mouth in front of a gentleman. They had finished their meals in silence, and as he put away their empty cartons, she looked back down at the sketchbook in front of her. It was still frustratingly blank.

"Tamaki tells me that you have re-attempted all of the western costumes," his voice was faint, and when she looked up, he was paused in front of the mp3 dock still playing the piano music she had turned on earlier. He turned to look at her. "What provoked the change?"

She hated what she had designed from the fabric she'd purchased with Kyouya as soon as she had assembled it. Her trip had lead to the phone calls with her father, which had lead to her lockdown on where she could be and who she could talk to. Although she'd ignored most of her father's angry shouting, it had left a profound effect on her design efforts. Hitachiin-sama had even noticed a difference. "I haven't been myself this week," she said, drawing lazy lines on the page. It wasn't a lie; she couldn't lie to Kyouya. It felt as though he would know the instant a falsehood came tumbling past her lips. "Actually, I could use your help."

"I don't sew, Genoveva," he said as the music stopped. She realized he had pressed the pause button on her music player, and was continuing to fiddle with the small device.

"I don't need sewing tips," she snapped, irritated that the soothing music had stopped. Then again, she wasn't about to stop him. Ever since the incident in the fabric warehouse, she'd been feeling a little wary around the man. "I need a design for your costume. I've finished every last bit of all of the other host's, but I can't even begin to design yours. I need inspiration. I need-" His hand came to rest on hers, the fingers intertwining almost instinctively. She hadn't even seen him cross the room, but now she could hear a new song starting. Lifting her hand so she turned around in her seat to face him, he bowed deeply. Was he...inviting her to dance? She didn't even recognize the song, as her English was limited working proficiency at best, but it didn't matter. She rose to her feet, and before she could blink, he had swept her so close that her cheek was pressed against his chest. One hand settled on her waist, and the other clutched her hand tightly as they began to slowly sway across the floor.

_Would you go with me if we rolled down streets of fire_

He was ever silent, simply guiding her through the motions. Her mind, on the other hand, was overwhelmed with suspicions. What was he doing? He couldn't have anything to gain from their dance together now, for she'd faxed him a copy of the signed contract after their trip to the fabric warehouse. She'd felt it was the right thing to do, and she had grown to love working with the Host Club. In her mind, there was nothing to gain from her anymore. Still, she couldn't complain about the close contact; it reminded her of the Fiesta dance.

_Would we walk even closer until the trip was over_

_And would it be okay if I didn't know the way_

The voice was soothing, with its dulcet bass tones, and she allowed herself to relax against Kyouya. Her mind, on the other hand, would not settle so easily. It was still troubled by the fact that he was here in the first place. It would not accept that he was 'just checking in', especially not since from what she could understand this song was romantic. Then again, her English wasn't that good and she could just be misunderstanding the whole situation and Kyouya could just be paying his debt and she was losing control and-

_If I gave you my hand would you take it_

-and his hand was sliding up to her chin and tipping her head upwards and he was looking at her with those dark eyes and-

_and make me the happiest man in the world_

-and their lips finally met. She breathed in his scent, something woody mixed with warm vanilla and something she couldn't quite place. A little bit of mystery; how like him. Her hands travelled up to his chest, fingers splaying wide before gripping his shirt tightly. She didn't want him to pull away. Not now, when for the first time since they'd met, there were no mind games. No tricks to be played, no feelings to be sheltered and tucked away. For the first time, Genoveva truly relaxed. Her grip on Kyouya was the only thing holding her anchored, holding her up from falling head over heels back into reality where'd she been keeping herself carefully locked away for so long. His hands slid down from where they had been gripping her chin to the small of her back, and he pulled her even closer. Any tighter, and they'd certainly meld together into into one tightly coiled entity of pent-up emotions releasing every last bit of what they had into a passionate first kiss.

_If I told you my heart couldn't beat one more minute without you, girl_

Kyouya pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. His eyes were half-lidded, and he was breathing heavily. For a moment, she felt like she was looking at an entirely different man than the one who had walked in the door not thirty minutes earlier. It was eerie, but she couldn't help to smile. Out of habit, their bodies started to sway again, dancing to music that neither could hear over the pounding of their own hearts. He blinked, focused on her. "So how am I doing?" he asked, one hand breaking free from its iron grip on her back to push up his glasses. His eyes were hidden behind a white glare for just a second, but she suddenly felt a million miles away for she recognized those words from the Fiesta dance. Did he honestly believe he could explain that all away as the duties of a host?

"Terribly," she sighed, before tugging on his shirt so that her lips met his again. "You'll never be a good host."

He frowned a little at her first word, but then her lips were pressed against his before he could object. When she pulled away, he made sure she didn't stray far, guiding her hips to the music. "And why is that?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Because we have a contract," she released her stiff grip on his shirt to settle her hands on his arms, still wrapped around her body. "Indefinitely."

_Let me know if you're really a dream_

_I love you so, so would you go with me_

They had settled to sitting next to one another at the table in a happy silence. Some time had passed, and now Genoveva held up a drawing for Kyouya to see. "Here is your costume, Kyouya."

His eyes settled on it, then on her smiling face. "I suppose it'll do."

* * *

author's note - whew. All one scene, no line breaks save for the end. Thanks again for reading along, and don't worry, this isn't the end. ; )


	9. Meeting the Senhor!

author's note: Portuguese is not a language I speak. Please let me know if I butchered something, I'll gladly fix it. Onwards to chapter 9!

* * *

A small western boomtown had appeared on the Ouran courtyard seemingly overnight, complete with a layer of sand that Kyouya claimed was imported from the deserts of Arizona. The main avenue was spotted with guests waiting their turn with the hosts, who each had claimed a building along the side for themselves. The twins were playing the 'Which one is Hikaru?" game on the stockades in front of the town jail, dressed in identical dark leather chaps over their pants. Further along, Honey and Mori were playing games in the general store, which Kyouya had been careful to stock with Host Club-related goods. The crowning achievement seemed to be the success of the saloon, where he had convinced Tamaki to play the piano. Even now, as Kyouya sat writing on a bench outside the general store, he could hear the music trailing out of the open saloon windows, followed by the swoons of enraptured guests. A smile creeped on his lips; maybe they would make even more of a profit than he had originally forecasted.

Looking down at his black notebook, he blinked. There was nothing on the page save for some large abstract doodles, as his mind was a million miles away. He'd slipped up, let his feelings dictate his actions, something he hadn't done in years. His chauffeur had asked if had wanted to stop anywhere on the way home from dinner with his father,and his heart had seized the moment to stop at a rinky-dink takeout stand. He massaged his eyes and slowly capped his pen. It was unlikely that he would get much work done today. What was he thinking? He'd been standing in front of the studio with the food in his hand before he had realized what he was doing, and by then it was too late. Tamaki had run into him, spouting off something about his fabulous new costume. He'd mentioned that Genoveva was still at work in the studio. The bumbling idiot had obviously infected him with a romantic spirit that had driven Kyouya to do the things he had done. That was the only explanation he had. Otherwise, Kyouya would've never gone inside, danced with her, or even considered the idea of kissing her.

But did he regret what he had done? No, he didn't think he did.. Never had he felt such a great weight lifted off his shoulders as when his lips had met hers, when he had clutched her close. Still, it was not like him, and that thought made him worry. If that was only a glimpse of what his heart was capable of, what would happen if he ever truly caved?

He pulled the cap off of his pen again, despite having just closed it, and pressed the nib into the page so that a pool of black ink started to grow. It was a slip-up. If she acknowledged it, he would as well, but not a moment sooner. After all, he was the level-headed one of the group. To run around kissing women on a whim was not the Ootori way, no matter how much more at ease he had felt afterwards. No, he decided, his mind resolute, he would not make another mistake like that again.

No matter how much he wanted to.

"Kyouya-senpai?" Looking up, he saw Haruhi standing on the other side of the patio fence, hands shoved into her pockets. "Have you seen Genoveva anywhere? Some guests are asking for her." Kyouya frowned; he actually hadn't seen her since lunch, when they had eaten together and discussed the event scheduled for after classes. Glancing at his watch, he snapped shut his notebook and rose to his feet. She had insisted she would be present in case of emergency, and it was unlike her to be late.

"I'm afraid I haven't," he finally said, looking at his watch again. He didn't like not knowing.

"That's not like you," Haruhi said, and was about to say something else but her eyes drifted to something over his shoulder, and he turned to see what had caught her attention. In the doorway behind him stood Genoveva, next to a tall, well-tanned older man. His face was turned down into a scowl as he locked eyes with Kyouya, but the bespectacled-man met his stare with an icy expression of his own. Haruhi could've sworn she saw lightning flash between the two.

It was Genoveva who finally broke the silence. "Pai, would you like something to drink?" It almost seemed as though she was unaware of the tension in the air. Haruhi, on the other hand, was nearly pinned to the spot, not sure if the earth was going to split beneath her feet.

The man's face softened as he looked away from Kyouya to his only child, a glimmer of a smile growing on his face. "Of course, minha querida," his accent was thick, but intelligible. " Is this the K-you-ya?" He pronounced the man's name in syllables, obviously struggling with traditional Japanese names. However, his scowl had returned, mean enough to break a weaker man.

But Kyouya was no weakling, and he merely slid his glasses into place in a smooth motion bowing deeply.. "Kyouya Ootori," he introduced himself. "Welcome to Ouran, Senhor Santos." Haruhi's eyes widened, this intimidating man was Genoveva's father?! She had seen a hint of something business-like in Genoveva, but this man looked like he could be the leader of a Brazillian yakuza, with his dark eyes and rugged face. Worse than that, he didn't seem pleased to see Kyouya-senpai.

Before she could hear his response, however, Genoveva was ushering her towards the saloon where Tamaki played. "This is not something you want to see," she said as they quickly crossed the road, "I only hope Kyouya doesn't underestimate him." She looked worried, but never glanced back at the pair of men they had left behind.

Haruhi thought of the ever-stoic Kyouya, and shook her head. "I think he'll be fine, Genoveva. Kyouya-senpai is the most formidable man I know."

Genoveva hesitated, her hand resting on the swinging door to the saloon. Her mind seemed to be spinning into overdrive, Haruhi could almost see gears grinding behind her eyes, but in a moment the worried look on Genoveva's face was replaced by a blank smile. "I'm sure my father knows better than to cause a scene," she said strangely, before opening the door and letting Haruhi inside.

* * *

"How are you-"

"Are you the man that leads this so-called 'club'?" his voice was dark, and his eyes even more so.

Kyouya did not fluster so easily. "I am the vice-president of the Host Club, and have no decision-making authority whatsoever. Our president is Tamaki Suoh, and he is currently entertaining guests," he replied, and even though it was the truth, it felt like a lie. Anyone who had met Kyouya knew that he had his way of making sure that his decisions were final. Still, he did not feel it necessary to bring up that small detail now.

"Then it makes no sense that my daughter should be so infatuated with you," the man eyed him up, as if evaluating Kyouya's appearance would tell him all he needed to know. Kyouya, on the other hand, said nothing, and his expression remained blank. Inside, his mind was reeling. How much had Genoveva told her father? What did this man want? "She does not need to tell me something in order for me to know. The host club, and especially you, have absorbed all of her time and efforts," he spat. "I was reluctant to let my daughter study abroad in the first place, and it seems that I was right to feel that way." He took a step forward, and looked Kyouya directly in the eye. "You should be ashamed, toying with a claimed woman like that."

Kyouya frowned; did this man know about his slip-up? Or was it a lucky guess? "What do you think-"

"She is promised to another, Kyouya. A man of great promise and fortune, back home in Brazil. You would do best to sever all ties with her, and let her come home where she belongs," he said, turning on his heel to walk away. "You can tell my Genoveva that I need to leave for business reasons, and then I never want to hear your name again."

Kyouya felt the world falling away beneath his feet, but then a lightbulb seemed to flicker on in his mind. "I can't do that," he said, never once losing his composure.

Senhor Santos turned around to look at him, the scowl still lingering on his face. "And why not?" he hissed.

"Genoveva signed an indefinite contract with the Host Club, and with me," he answered simply, slipping his notebook into his jacket pocket and moving to descend the steps of the building. The fact that her contract was meaningless and would allow her to leave at anytime was not one he felt necessary to mention. Brushing past a fuming Senhor Santos, he crossed to road to check up on progress inside the saloon.

* * *

He found her playing a shooting game that was stationed behind the saloon. There were several fake shotguns lined up on table, all facing a wildlife scene. Throughout the scene, various animals, plants and other landmarks had small targets on them, which you could 'shoot' with a laser in the gun. For added effect, the guns made a very realistic sound when fired. Since none of the guests knew how to handle a gun, the game had been decidedly unpopular. For now, however, Kyouya was grateful for the privacy. He watched as Genoveva lined up a shot, breathed in and fired, triggering a can to fall down on the far left side. The sound of the gun echoed in the silence. "Your aim is impressive," he finally said, but she only moved her gun slightly and fired again, triggering the next can in a line of four.

"I apologize for my father's intrusion," she said, firing. Despite their closeness a week prior, she was oddly distant now. "His visit was as much a surprise to me as it was to you."

Kyouya moved to pick up the shotgun next to her and fired it, triggering a small squirrel to topple over. "Actually, his visit was quite enlightening," he said calmly, lining up his next shot.

She gave him a weird look. "Why would you say that?"

"He was kind enough to tell me that I should remove you from the host club's service immediately." His gun fired again, tipping the hat on a dummy.

She shook her head, returning her focus to the scene before them. "Is that all?" Certainly her father had not travelled thousands of miles just to deliver that message. No, her father only travelled when he needed to truly ruin someone's day. She was surprised that the man had not severed Kyouya's head from his body; her father did not like it when someone defied his wishes.

"No, actually," he paused, letting the tip of the gun rest on the table as he turned to look at her. "I had no idea that you were a claimed woman, Genoveva."

She did not pause at his words, instead choosing to fire again: _BANG._ "I am not 'claimed'," she muttered.

"According to your father, a man awaits you in Brazil. If that isn't a cla-"

"I am not 'claimed'." _BANG._

" I am surprised that a woman as independent as yourself would agree to something as dated as an arranged marriage. Surely the Santos family had more pride than to submit their only heiress to something as embarrassing as that," his tone was unnecessarily cold, but he couldn't help it. He felt betrayed.

"I am not 'claimed'," she repeated, louder this time. _BANG_. For the first time since he had walked in, she missed her shot. Quickly pumping the shotgun as though it were a real weapon, she aimed again and shot down the dummy whose hat Kyouya had hit earlie

"I do appreciate your father visiting to inform me of this, Genoveva. At least now I know better than to pursue you," he said, breaking his own rule about not bringing up their kiss. She spun towards him, pure fury in his eyes as her gun pointed towards his heart. For a moment, he honestly believed that she was holding a real weapon, the way her white-knuckled grip clutched the hunk of plastic. Then her expression shifted to something he couldn't read, and she flung the piece to the ground before storming over to him.

"And here I was, actually believing that you could be a half-decent human being," she spat at his feet, before turning on her heel and storming off. Kyouya could hear the door to the saloon open behind him, and for the first time since he had walked out to the shooting game, he noticed that the music had stopped. Turning around, he found himself face-to-face with Tamaki.

Instantly, a blank expression took over Kyouya's face. "What can I do for you, Tamaki?" he asked,casually pushing his glasses up so they sat properly on his nose.

The blonde frowned, a sight that Kyouya did not often witness. He moved to sit down on the table where the guns lay, looking up at his vice-president."What are you doing, Mommy?" he said, his expression working into one of worry. "Sending a princess fleeing like that; you should be ashamed."

"I do not tolerate liars. She had many opportunities to inform me of her ridiculous arrangement with her father," Kyouya said coldly, moving to pull out his black notebook from his vest. Tamaki's hand stopped him.

" Look at the pot calling the kettle black. Or have you not turned down several arrangements from your own father this semester alone?" his blue eyes were trained on Kyouya, but he would never admit that the blonde was right. That was completely different from this; she had deliberately not told him.

"That is a completely different matter,"he hissed, flipping open his notebook to start writing. Tamaki realised this was Kyouya's way of ending the conversation, but he hesitated to move. "Don't you have some guests to entertain, Daddy?" Kyouya said, and Tamaki finally rose to his feet.

"I cannot believe that a host would leave a lovely maiden such as her in such a state," he sighed, before turning to walk inside. Kyouya ignored him, his attention trained to the page in his notebook. Genoveva's name had been etched into the white paper again and again. Flipping the page, he realized most of his notebook was filled with notes about her. Scowling, he started to tear the pages out one by one, letting them fall slowly to the ground. No, Kyouya Ootori would never admit that he felt hurt and betrayed that the girl he had opened up to was promised to another.

* * *

author's note: you guys are right, the last chapter was a bit rushed. Hopefully this one smoothed things out a bit and helps the story continue to make sense. As always, please read and review!


	10. The Building Tension!

Author's note - classes have started. Onward to chapter 10!

* * *

A month had passed since the western-themed Host Day, and something was wrong with the Host Club. At first glance, everything seemed fine. The Third Music Room was impeccably clean, the lights gleamed and all around the room lovely ladies with way too much time on their hands were being entertained by handsome gentleman with way too much time on their hands. Smiles gleamed all around the and cries of moe bounced off the high ceilings periodically, for every host was present and working. Yes, upon first glance, everything in the Host Club appeared to be operating normally.

However, a regular guest to the club could sense tension in the air, some invisible cloud of unease that enveloped every corner of the Third Art Room. Honey was eating a little less cake. Mori was a little more silent. The twin's eyes lacked a mischevious glint. Haruhi smiled a little less. Those signs, however, could easily be missed.

On the other hand, the dischordant clank of Tamaki's cup as it smacked on the table could not be so easily overlooked, and his guests actually jumped a bit at the sound. All around the room, worried eyes turned toward the blonde. After all, hadn't he been the one to preach the importance of the pinky cushion?A gentleman should never make such an ugly sound in company of such beautiful ladies, yet here he had. Shame colored his face, and a hand moved to cover his mouth as he stammered, "w-what do you mean, there are no more teacups?"

Haruhi, who had been serving tea to his guests while giving him the news, paused for a moment. Her words had a dramatic effect on the man, but she supposed she shouldn't be surprised. Leave it to Tamaki-senpai to make a mountain out of a molehill. She tilted the tray in her hands so that he could see the solitary teapot that stood thede. "I meant just that, senpai. We're out."

His eyes travelled to the tray, then back to her face. "But how..." he said quietly. The idea that the Host Club was not fully prepared for guest hours was something that failed to register in his mind.

Haruhi, unaware that Tamaki wasn't actually asking for a reason, put the tray down and pressed a thoughtful finger to her chin. "Well," she started, "I think Kyouya-senpai mentioned that he sends the fine china away to be cleaned. Seeing that it isn't here, I can only reason that he forgot to pick it up."

Tamaki's head snapped up from its mournful slump at her words, and in a flash he was gripping her by the shoulders and shaking her violently. The tension in the room grew thick, Haruhi could feel all eyes on then. Tamaki didnt seem to care, he was practically bawling. "Mommy forgot about the Host Club?!Why would he do that? Does he want to break Daddy's heart?!"

"Senpai- stop!" Haruhi cried, trying to squirm away from his pincer-like grip.

"Eh, Boss? Is this how you treat your children?" somewhere in Tamaki's outburst, the twins had arrived on either side of the King. Haruhi considered a scathing retort about how they were not a family, but their words had the desired effect: Tamaki let go. She quietly brushed dust from her clothes while he struggled with his words.

"I w-would never want to harm Haruhi," he said quietly, a complete contrast from the screaming maniac he had been not a minute earlier.

"You have a funny way of showing it," she snapped, straightening her uniform and giving him a dirty look.

"Besides, boss," Kaoru said, "don't you feel it?" Tamaki looked puzzled, unspoken questions burning in his eyes. Feel what?

"The tension. It's been here for a month now, growing and growing. Even the guests can feel it," Hikaru answered, and a few girls nearby nodded in agreement. Tamaki looked around in surprise, as if he hadn't noticed anything until just this very moment. Of course he would be the last to figure things out. Hikaru continued, "Do you know where it is coming from, boss?" Obviously the twins knew. Haruhi, judging by the lack ofa certain member of the club, could easily guess. Honey and Mori, the omnipotent third years, had disappeared along with the guests. Tamaki shook his head, and the twins took his hands to face him towards the far corner of the room, where Kyouya sat. "It's him. He's the source," they pointed.

"Kyouya? But why?" Tamaki looked crestfallen, and Haruhi couldnt help feeling bad for him. The twins, on the other hand, did not care.

"He's been out of sorts for weeks now," Hikaru muttered.

"Misplacing tea and cups," Hikaru added.

"Tearing up his notebook."

"Look, one of his lenses is cracked."

"Why is he ruining the Host Club? Does he not want to be here anymore?" Poor Tamaki; always ignorant.

For Haruhi, on the other hand, everything had just clicked into place. "Genoveva!" she answered the question nobody had asked.

"Whaa..."

"He's brokenhearted, boss." Kaoru laid a gentle hand on Tamaki's shoulder. "And he's not the only one. Our costumes last week were abysmal." Obviously, Genoveva's mind had been somewhere else when she had been sewing the Industrial Revolution garb.

Something shifted in Tamaki's expression, and suddenly he was striding across the room to the brokenhearted man, who was giving him a dark glare though one shattered lens. Unaware or simply ignoring it, the blonde smashed his hand purposively down on the table. "I demand you do something about this, Kyouya!"

"Something about what?" his tone and expression were enough to freeze a man solid, but Tamaki prattled on.

"About Genoveva!" Kyoyua stiffened at the name. "She is a lovely princess locked away in a tower, and you are her knight in shining armor! Her glowing rose!" Her-"

"What makes you think that I am even care about that woman?" Kyouya snapped.

Tamaki's tone had been gallant before, but at Kyouya's words, his expression shifted to something not usually seen on the blonde: serious. "Everyone can see it!" The fact that the twins had only alerted him to the problem a few minutes earlier was forgotten. "And it is very un-host-like to leave a lady in distress. Mommy, you need to go and tend to her! Mend her broken hea-"

"I think she'll be fine," he spat. "And who gave-"

"Kyouya-senpai?" A sinister glare trained on Haruhi, who had come up behind Tamaki and was looking down at the still-seated Kyouya. She had been carefully considering her words before walking over, knowing she would have only one chance. "A promise does not make a marriage, even she knows that. You're acting so," she snatched up the forbidden notebook, flipping it open to a page filled with the seamstress's name, "immature about this, and you're just going to drive her back home if you don't go and fix this."

"Wow, Haruhi," the twins were standing next to her, dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs, "we didn't know you cared so much."

"If everyone is quite finished meddling in matters that do not concern them," Kyouya's voice was as cold as ever, but he was moving pack up his things. "The Club is closed for today." He strode towards the door quickly, but Haruhi could have sworn there was the tiniest of smiles tugging at his lips before the door slammed shut behind him.


	11. Studio Games!

The ride to the studio was eerily similar for Kyouya to one he'd orchestrated nearly a month earlier. Same streets, same turns and also the same uneasy feeling in his stomach. Something wasn't sitting right, and it hadn't for over a month now. Wait- what did he care? Chasing after some girl he'd only met at the beginning of the semester? It was all so unlike him it nearly made him sick. A small voice in the back of his mind considered requesting the driver to head straight home. Home was safe. Home meant no Genoveva to confront or feelings to control. Home was a place where he knew who he was.

Up to this point there had been one side to Kyouya: cool, calm and omnipotent. But now, as the car came to a stop in front of the Hitachiin studio, he realized he was walking into a world with no data. A new side to Kyouya would surface, surely. With data, he could hide his feelings behind facts and figures. He could tell you the history of Hitachiin-sama and her fashion empire. It would be a simple task. But handling his feelings? That was not something he was well-versed in. His mussed-up hair and cracked glasses made that apparent. So why was he here? Why was he exiting the limo and walking up to the grand studio?

For a girl. No, he was here for Genoveva. To him there was a distinct difference between the seamstress and all of the other guests to their club. He wanted to know her. He wanted this feeling of guilt and uncertainty to go away. Her profile in his black notebook was decidedly empty (as her transfer documents were confidential and her name brought up too many results to count), and he was here to correct this. To solve this mystery named Genoveva.

Maybe that was what drove him closer to the building and to her. He had always liked a mystery. His fingers curled around the doorhandle to the studio building and deftly opened it. Internally, he shook his head as the twisting feeling in his gut only grew exponentially. No, he did not like mysteries; he liked solving them. He liked knowing the answer to a problem before it was even discussed; he liked control. His steps echoed loudly on the tile floor as he ascended the staircase and wound down several twisting hallways. Genoveva was a mystery, yet he felt more drawn to her than anything. Somehow, his wrenching stomach drove him to her. Maybe it was the calming effect her words had on him. Even though she rarely discussed her home life, he felt as though he was unearthing critical data whenever they spoke, and that pleased him.

He paused outside the studio door, listening to the muffled sound of a sewing machine but trapped inside his own revelations. His heart, which he had strived so hard to smother with logic and common sense, was now struggling to make its voice be heard. He liked talking to Genoveva, liked listening to her every word. The only way this twisting feeling in his stomach would subside was if he talked to her more, and maybe even danced with her again. Only she would put his thoughts at ease. Fingers wrapping around the doorhandle, he eased the wall between them open. He could see her dark waves hunched over a sewing machine on the left side of the room, and his heart started to beat through his chest. Maybe he could still walk away. Maybe the feeling would go away on its own, after a few days.

Weeks.

Months.

Before he knew it, he was closing the door behind him and striding across the room. He did not want to wait months, an Ootori did not wait if he did not have to. No, Kyouya wanted her here, and now. He wanted to find out her every thought on every matter because to him, it was critical. She was a mystery he would figure out, no matter how long it took. His hand landed on her shoulder, curling around the soft fabric of the shirt she wore, but she did not look up. What she said caught him by surprise.

"I'm glad I caught you, Kyouya." The noise of the sewing machine had stopped; he could detect faint country music in the background, but the pounding of his heart overwhelmed everything. Those words sounded eerily familiar; a line he'd used on her several times before. Caught him? But she had been working, couldn't have had any idea that he was coming. "I'm afraid I haven't finished your costumes yet. It's difficult to work with the Host Club when its shadow king demeans you." Her voice was curt, but she still hadn't turned to look at him. Instead, she was fidgeting with a slinky green fabric, trying to adjust the pins so they lay flat.

Her words stung. He had been entirely responsible for their falling out, but she hadn't been entirely truthful either. He was not about to make enemies by trampling all over an arranged marriage. And her father had been perfectly clear: she was selected for another. "You lied to me," he finally said.

Her head whipped around and she stared at him with burning eyes. "I never lied to you. You never asked, so I never lied," she snapped, but he caught her by the chin before she could turn away again.

"Not telling the truth is still lying."

"Then you'd be the grand master of it! I haven't kept anything vital from you, Kyouya, but you seem to be an expert in explaining away your feelings."

Years of practice kept Kyouya's face blank and his mouth shut.

"You should be ashamed, going around acting like you don't have feelings for anyone! That's lying to yourself, which is a million times worse than any truths I haven't told!"

Funny, he had come in here to solve his own problems, not cause hers. This was not going as he had imagined. Most girls would be tripping over themselves trying to apologize. Then again, she wasn't like most girls. In a way, that was probably why he had made the effort to come here. Still, this situation was out of his control, and he did not like that. He caught her hand as it prodded into his chest, trying to calm her, but she snatched it away.

"What do you think you're doing?" she said, clutching her hand as if had burned it. The shrillness in her voice was gone, and he took that as a sign that she was calming down.

"I did not come here to argue with you," he answered. Her gaze was wary; she seemed to be evaluating his response. What was she expecting? Was it what he wanted? "I came here to clarify things. If you're so set on being honest, you'll tell me the truth."

"Are we on about 'claiming' me again?" her voice was strained, eyes livid again. "Why couldn't you have just asked me this a month ago instead of believing my father at the drop of a hat? Did you honestly believe my father would tell you, a complete stranger, the truth about his only daughter?" she was searching his eyes for a response, but he said nothing. "Apparently you did. You left me wondering if you really had dismissed me on that Host Day. Was our contract done? Were we done? Ever since I met you, you've toyed with me, and I'm honestly getting sick of it."

"Toyed?"

"Lying. Putting on a front. Whatever you want to call it, you're doing it. I don't like to be kept waiting around for you to sort out your feelings." She had a way of sounding angry even when her voice levelled off. It sounded like she was trying to collect herself, much like Kyouya tried to control himself. Although he was a lot more practiced in it.

"I'm not the only one who plays games, and I have not lied to you-"

"Stop it," she punched a finger into his chest, "there you go again. You're in so deep that I'm scared you may never find a way out. Can you ask a question that isn't based in logic or numbers? Or is that all you know now?"

What was she trying to do? He'd never seen her this angry before; it was almost surreal. Worse, she had avoided his first question. She would not stray Kyouya from his fact-finding mission. Pushing up on his glasses, he looked down at her. "Do you have an arranged marriage waiting for you at home?"

"No."

"That's not what your father told me."

"My father is overprotective," she waved a dismissive hand.

Kyouya paused, processing what she had just said. Overprotective? Her father had lied straight to his face? She had mentioned that he would, after all. Then why hadn't he caught on? Sure, he'd dismissed the man but then he'd also rejected Genoveva herself. Now that he was standing here, it all made sense. It bothered him that he hadn't seen it before. "You are his only daughter," he reasoned, and she nodded.

"His one and only," she smiled, powering down the sewing machine behind her. "Do you feel better now?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Haruhi said you were a wreck. My words, not hers, but you would not send for your limousine and drive down to this studio just to question my marriage status if not for some personal reason. Your feelings have been getting the better of you. You are not just a data mining mole."

"I like to stay up to-"

"Up to date on your employees? I've heard that before. If you want me to be honest with you, you need to be honest with me," she wasn't looking at him anymore, instead tucking away her slinky green project and packing away her sewing supplies. He didn't like that, he wanted all of her focus on him. It kept that uncomfortable feeling in his stomach at bay.

"I don't lie," he insisted.

She hesitated, a couple of spools of thread in her hand. "You just don't tell the whole truth. Tell me honestly. What are you doing here?" She still refused to make eye contact with him, keeping her focus on the task at hand. It was really starting to irritate him. He wanted control. To control her.

"Checking on my employee."

"We just talked about honesty. What are you doing here, Kyouya?"

"Gathering information."

She had moved to the other side of the room, Kyouya following her, to start covering the dress forms in sheets, but had stopped when he spoke. Sheet in hand, she didn't turn to look at him. "About what?" He could hear the curiousity in her voice. Finally, since the first step he took in the room, he had control. She was under his thumb, and it felt good.

"You." In one quick motion he had gripped her wrist and jerked her towards him, letting their bodies crash into one look of surprise on her face was absolutely priceless to him. In an instant, the twisting feeling that had consumed him over the past month vanished and was replaced by a warmth he couldn't explain, but he loved it. He had planned his moves carefully this time; let her argue things out and come to the same conclusion as him:there was something between them. She stammered, stuttered, struggled to find her words; he placed a finger over her lips with a smile. "I am going to figure you out, Genoveva. I am going to know what you like to eat, where you like to go and what you like to do. I will know everything there is to know about you, no matter how long it takes," he whispered, letting his hands settle on the small of her back and letting her speak.

They were silent for a moment, while Kyouya relished in the fact that now he was leaving her speechless. He had a feeling it didn't happen often. Finally, she found her words. "Is this an indefinite offer?" she asked quietly, her forehead resting against his chest.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head, resting there. "It will have to be."

* * *

Author's note - there is still an epilogue to come! Thanks for all of the favorites and reviews.


	12. Epilogue!

A year had passed, and the Ouran ballroom was alive with festivities yet again.

"Are these another Genoveva creation?"

"They're absolutely lovely. I don't know how she does it."

"The costumes are better every time. I'm glad the Host Club found her." As the Host Club event did not have a theme, the dress code was simply black tie. Genoveva had carefully handmade custom tuxedos for every member, and even Haruhi had remarked on how nice they looked.

"Does she design anywhere else?"

"I don't think so."

"I asked her if she would design my dress for the ball tonight, but she had she had her hands full with a special project."

Up to this point in the festivities, it had been another dull event. Girls to entertain, drink to be had, dancing to be done. But the twin's ears perked up at that last statement, voiced by a 1-C girl who had been attending the Host Club as a guest since her first day of classes. A special project? Genoveva hadn't told the club anything about a special project, and if it was one thing the twins didn't like, it was being kept out of a loop. From their seats at the center of the ballroom, they could just see the top of Kyouya's head where he stood greeting guests. "Did you know about a special project?" Kaoru asked his brother quietly.

"No. Do you think Kyouya knows?" They peered at the dark-haired man as he shook the hands of entering guests with a polite smile. Although this was his routine for every event, he seemed more enthusiastic about it now, making small talk with each and every person that walked in. The twins could almost hear the shameless flattery from where they were seated. "He knows everything."

The twins watched then as something surprising happened: Kyouya checked his watch. It was a small, quick movement that went easily unnoticed by the guests, but the twins exchanged knowing glances. "So it seems he doesn't know," Kaoru smiled. "Can't even keep track of his own girlfriend."

"Probably had his head buried too deep in his laptop," Hikaru the distance, Kyouya turned to shoot them a glance. Although he was well out of earshot, the twins still shrank down out of fear. Had he heard them? For a moment, neither spoke. Kyouya returned to his guests, and the twins exchanged wary glances. "Do you think he heard us?"

"I don't think we'd be breathing if he had."

"Still, someone should tell him about Genoveva." Both twins moved to rise to their feet, but were immediately shoved back down as Mori clamped two firm hands on their shoulders. Their heads whipped around to look up at him in surprise. Where had he come from?

"Don't," he said gruffly, staring down at them.

Honey poked his head over the edge of the couch. "Yeah, don't tell Kyo-chan!" He wagged a warning finger at the pair. "Veva-chan swore that we had to keep it a secret."

"Do you know what it is?" Kaoru asked.

"Of course!" Honey beamed, then his eyes turned downcast. "But only the first part. She said the second half was a big surprise." He looked let down that he was left out of the secret, so Mori lifted him so he was sitting on his shoulders. The loli-shota instantly brightened, and pointed to the far side of the room where the guests were descending the staircase. "There she is!"

And indeed she was, pausing at the top of the staircase with one hand resting gently on the railing. Her dark hair was curled and twisted into a braid that coiled over her shoulder, but that wasn't the most striking thing about her. No, Genoveva had taken the initiative to design her own gown this even, from a familiar slinky fabric that caught the light in pearlescent green shades. She had truly outdone herself. The neckline plunged deep, and the fabric swirled arpund her feet as she moved to descend the staircase. Whoever she had been looking for at the top of the staircase, she had now found. The hosts could trace her gaze to Kyouya, who was now blatantly ignoring every guest in favor of watching her descend the staircase. It was unlike him to forgo manners, and the four onlookers had to stifle laughter as their shadow king succumbed to basic instincts.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Genoveva smiled, bowing slightly. Kyouya's eyes travelled to her face, and it seemed that for a moment he was at a loss for words. Just what she had wanted.

Quick as a whip, however, he regained his composure with a quick adjustment of his glasses and a little polite cough. "It's inexcusable," he frowned, but his eyes were smiling as he continued, "we'll have to discuss your reprimand later."

"I suppose its only fair," she sighed, smiling as she extended her hand for him to take. He was quick to abandon his position as greeter and together they headed towards the dancefloor.

* * *

"I thought we were being honest with one another." They had been dancing together most of the night, simply enjoying one anothers company, but even Genoveva knew when a silence was going on too long.

"I have some news for you," he said, his voice distant. The light had caught his glasses, and it felt as though he were a million miles away. He had been putting this moment off, knowing it had to happen eventually but reluctant to actually say anything.

"Tell me," she pressed him.

They stopped their rhythmic sway to the music. "Not here," he shook his head, then looked about them. Finding a suitable location, he grabbed her hand and led her out to the patio, where the night air was just cool enough to still their pounding hearts. Kyouya rested his back against the rail, his hands on either side of him. Genoveva leaned up against him, and he wrapped an arm around her to pull her close. The patio was strangely empty aside from them.

They fell into silence against, Genoveva enjoying the sound of Kyouya's beating heart as her head rested on his chest. Hadn't they come out here to talk? It seemed serious, after all. But if Kyouya was so hesitant to say anything, then she wasn't sure if she wanted to hear it. Maybe the silence was safe. Allowing herself to relax against him, she tipped her head up so she was looking at his face. His gaze was distant again, the hand on her back rubbing lazy circles onto her bare skin. She still wished that she could read his thoughts sometimes. Although they played many mind games with one another, sometimes she just wanted to hear the strwight truth, and not all the cloak and dagger surrounding it.

"My father is a powerful man," he finally said, his voice dead even. "I've defied him several times before, but now he has found a way to force my hand."

"What are you to do ?" she asked. He continued to stare off into the night sky. Was he avoiding her gaze? It made her uncomfortable; Kyouya rarely struggled so much with his words.

"He has arranged a match for me. I am to be wed in the summer following this semester." For a moment, the world start to tip and spin.

"No..." she breathed. It was all so surreal. "I hadn't imagined this day would come so soon."

Kyouya was running a hand through her hair, which had come unravelled in the dancing. His fingers were calming, but they didn't stop the world from falling away from beneath their feet. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. "I didn't either. I may still stand a chance of refusing him, for the agreement isn't set in stone. If I were to-"

"Who is she?" Genoveva interrupted, and Kyouya looked down at her in surprise. Her mood had shifted suddenly, from sadness to something like...anger? Jealousy? He couldn't quite place it.

"She is a sugar heiress," Kyouya muttered, his eyes hidden behind his glasses that caught the lights from inside. "Her father is incredibly powerful, and my father couldn't be more pleased at the match."

"Is that all you know?" she had buried her face into his chest again, and that strange tone was still in her voice. "Is that all you know about your future wife?" she repeated, her voice slightly muffled.

"I've been too busy trying to refuse the arrangement that I haven't done much research into the woman. Look, Genoveva," he wrapped both of his arms around him, forcing their bodies together from chest to toe. "I don't want to accept her. I have already signed an indefinite contract with you." She was silent, and he moved his hand so that he could cup her chin and force her to look at him. What he saw made him freeze. Was she...smiling?

"Where is their plantation?" she asked, and Kyouya was certain that a smile was tugging at the corners of her lips.

Kyouya's eyes darkened as he spat the name, "Teresina. Their plantation is the second greatest producer of sugar in the world, and first in the name of premium quality. Really, Genoveva, that is all I know, " Genoveva couldn't help laughing, and Kyouya shot her an irritated look. "What is it?"

"You really don't know anything about the Santos family, do you?"

"Your records are blocked from my access, and you refuse to tell me anything," he snapped, "and obviously you know something that I don't."

Genoveva relished the moment. "The Santos plantation is located in Teresina. We have been noted as the greatest sugar family to come out of Brazil in a long time," she smiled up at him. Kyouya's face was blank for a moment, before his eyes lit up and he broke out into laughter to match Genoveva's. Still laughing, he swept her up into his arms and kissed her, the electricity jumping through her veins as she clutched him tight and truly kissed him back.

The summer following their graduation, they were to be wed.

And that thought alone thrilled her.


End file.
